He'd look back at me, patiently and solemly, then I'd stand at his side and tell him to "stay." Finally, I'd say, "Okay." And he'd bound off like he had been shot from the proverbial cannon.
When it came time to put my Alpha-Wolf training into practice, I'd say, "Morgan, come." Sometimes, he would. But sometimes he'd look at me as if to say, "Okay, Pop, but there's a smell over here I have to investigate. Then, I'll be along." I'm afraid I didn't make a very good Alpha-Wolf; more of an Omega-Wolf.
He was always near me. He'd lie down not just in the room with me, but as close as he could get to my chair. Close enough so that it was easy for me to reach down and give him a pat. Morgan followed me everywhere, from room to room, upstairs, downstairs. He was my shadow.
Whenever I left our Padre Pio Foundation, he would wait for my return with such patience.
On Mondays, I taught at Fairfield University and didn't usually return until seven o'clock at night.
When I'd turn into the driveway, there he'd be with his big black nose poking through the curtains, waiting.
When I started toward the house, he'd leave the window and meet me at the front door. You should have heard the talking-to he'd give me!! He'd go on and on as if to say, "How come you left me so long?
Why didn't you take me with you? I missed you so much, and I'm so glad you're back. Now, come on, Pop, get me some supper." How often I have caught myself thinking, "If only I could 'wait upon the Lord' as Morgan waited on me."
From time to time, the local store has chicken parts on sale. I'd buy a big back and boil the chicken. Then, of course, I'd have to strip thechicken from the bones and throw them away. You should have seen the look he'd give me!
He didn't complain, but I could read his thoughts -- "How come you're
throwing those bones away? Why do you do that? You know I'd love to have them."
He'd forgive me when I'd give him a nice big chicken dinner mixed with his dog food. Still, he never understood why his dear poppa would be so mean. And there was no way I could explain that the chicken bones might splinter and pierce his insides.
That was just one of the many lessons he taught me. Acceptance and Trust. How many times I have asked Our dear Lord for something and it wasn't given to me. Maybe because I was asking for "chicken bones."
Morgan had a wonderful friend. Her name was Oolah -- a female Irish Wolfhound. She and Morgan were great pals.
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Whenever I had to travel I would leave Morgan with Jill and Ray. What kind and thoughtful friends they are! And what a farm they have! Tucked away in the northeaster corner of Connecticut. Among many other things, she raises wolfhounds. Oolah was one of her favorites. |
You should have seen the two of them romping through the fields. What a sight! They'd jump and run, bump and twist and race across the meadows. Later they'd stretch out in the shade of an old oak tree -- side by side. They never gave us pups. How I wish they had!
All good things end I suppose, even the gentle bonding between these two close friends. Oolah came down with cancer, bone cancer. The last time Morgan and I visited, things has changed. No more romping with joy. Oolah was too far gone. When it came time to leave, Morgan just didn't want to go. But Jill had to take Oolah to the vet; she could barely walk. And after they had gone, a long time after, I managed to get Morgan into our car for the silent and sad ride home.
When we arrived it was early evening. There was no one in sight. Morgan walked very slowly to the middle of the parking area. He sat. He lifted his chin to the evening sky and howled. Never will I forget my gentle friend's mournful cry; his howling call to his lost one. It was the fabled banshee wail of approaching heartbreak and the scourage of sorrow.
Later, hours later, we were in my room. Morgan usually slept next to my bed. This night he climbed into my bed. He stretched out on his side with is back to me. I put my right arm under his neck and the other around his mighty chest. We stayed together for a long, long time. I whispered words of love and consolation, of healing and peace. Later he slept.
Just a few months after his loss, Morgan too became sick. I have always, since I first got him as a pup, considered him a gift from God. And I can't tell you how many times I have thanked Him for this precious gift.
When Morgan became sick, I prayed for him. A lot of friends did. I gave him back to Jesus. I put Morgan in Our Lord's hands. I knew my big fella was on loan to me, and I asked that the loan be extended awhile longer. It wasn't to be and I accept as Morgan taught me to accept. He accepted anything and
everything without a whimper.
Morgan had faith in me. And I had faith in him. He knew that I could not possibly do anything to hurt him. His faith in me -- what a treasured gift that is!
One day, not too long ago, Anna took the same walk she had taken so many times with my Dear Friend; but this time there was difference. Mr. G. was waiting as he had waited all those years, rain or shine.
When Anna came up to him, he was puzzled. "You don't look right walking by yourself." As gently as she could, she told him that Morgan had died. For a long, long moment he stood motionless. "I'll miss my furry guy, Morg." His eyes filled with tears. "I have no one now to buy cheese balls for." He turned ever so slowly toward his front porch.
They say our Irish Wolfhounds are "heartbreak hounds." Maybe they are! But if to protect myself from heartbreak I have to go without the love and devotion of my Morgan, I'll take the heartbreak every time.
When one of our family or a friend dies, we of faith fully expect to see that person again. But with Morgan, I don't know. It is so hard to think that this friend I will never see again. Never have him give me his big paw when he's hungry or wants to go out. Never have him lick my hand in the morning to wake me up. Never have him sit beside me on the front steps to watch the world go by.
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And so, my Morgan, farewell. |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fr. Bob McQ
Fr. Robert McQueeney, 1919 - 2002
Spiritual Director
The Padre Pio Foundation of America, 1982-2002
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