If there was one thing that defined him, it was his love for his food.  Or your food — the distinction was lost on Marco.  When he was young and we’d just brought him into our family after he grew too large to be a show dog any more, he’d scarf down his food so quickly you’d think he’d choke.  After he’d bolted his own meal, he’d horn in on his sister’s food, pushing his snout into her bowl and trying to shove her aside until she’d had enough of him and went medieval with snaps and growls and bared teeth.

Even when he started getting older he still had a hearty appetite — Thomas started an exercise program when Marco was 11 that consisted of holding out a piece of dog treat and running circles around the ground floor of our house, Marco scrambling along behind, always straining to reach the morsel.

Last night he wouldn’t eat his dinner, wouldn’t eat a spoon of chunky peanut butter, wouldn’t eat his favorite dog treats.

He loved playing with his sister and with people.  We used to play “soccer” — I’d kick a ball around and they’d attack it, with the odd nip at my heels thrown in for good measure.  They’re a herding breed, and when the two of them ganged up on me there was almost no way to get the ball past them.  It was very clear to me whenever I played with them what a wayward sheep on a Shetland Island moor must feel like.

When we’d play fetch, we’d throw a big rope bone out in the yard and the two dogs would sprint out to it.  Aurora was always faster and reliably got to the bone first, but Marco quickly learned that his size could compensate for his laziness, and would grab on to the bone when Aurora started to return and body-check his sister to wrest it away.

In that first year after we got him, when he was still very young, he’d nap in the sunlight on the carpet downstairs by the big glass door and his paws would twitch as he chased rabbits in his dreams.  He tried to be a good watchdog, but he was never as protective as Aurora — you never knew who might feed you, you know — and since his breeder was deaf and lived in a suburban neighborhood he’d been de-barked before we got him.  Not that it stopped him from trying, but he had a very soft, “Yarf”-sounding bark that would never have scared anyone away.

He’d had problems getting to his feet on slick flooring for a while, but something worse happened to him last night.  Around 10:00 he struggled to stand, and mostly couldn’t.  His head listed to the side and even when he could get some footing he staggered sideways.  He looked confused, and didn’t seem to be able to lay his head down flat.  He needed a pillow or a leg to rest his head on in order to get truly comfortable.

He was the gentlest of dogs.  There was never any concern about having our kids around him.  From Thomas to Katherine to Jonathan, baby to toddler to rambunctious, active child, Marco was always tolerant and affectionate.  Even in his waning days, Jonathan would come over and play with his ears (gently, or we’d remove him), and Marco seemed to enjoy it.  It was hard to tell for sure.  He hadn’t wagged his tail in months.

We knew he was getting sicker, knew his time was short and that we were going to need to make The Decision sooner rather than later.  Robin talked to Thomas about it when he really started having problems standing up on the hardwood floor a couple of months ago.  She explained that when he got so sick that he wasn’t enjoying life any more and was suffering, that we would talk to the vet.  If he agreed, we’d give Marco some medicine that would make him go to sleep peacefully and die without pain.  He understood.

But even though he understood, when the time came today he still cried, as we all did.  Goodbye, Marco.  Goodbye, old friend.  We love you.

Tags: Death, Marco