Prior to receiving this dog into our family, I had named my
animal companions after gods and goddesses. My cats had names like Aphrodite,
Artemis, Diana and a brother and sister pair we named Electra and Orestes.
Before we got her at nine months, the dog’s name was Winnie. (Welsh for a fair
one, white and smooth, fair and pure.) It was a good name, but the dog had not
been trained and was out-of-control, which was why we needed to “rescue” her.
For a new life, she needed a new name. I searched through Bulfinch’s Mythology not finding any Greek or Roman goddesses who
seemed quite right. She deserved a powerful name and then I remembered the
Arthurian Legend and Arthur’s sister – the enchantress, Morgan le Fay.
She was well named. She never met a person who could resist
her magic spells.
Morgan believed her
role in the world was to allow people to express their love for her. She gave
everyone, whether they knew they needed it or not, the opportunity to heal through
petting her. God gave humans two hands, she often said, so one could experience
the joy of petting a dog while the other went about its normal business. If you
forgot, she would bump your hand with her head or with the tip of her wet nose.
She was the star pupil at her obedience training classes and
preferred carrots as reward treats. At her favorite command, “Belly rub,” she
would flop onto her back, four legs into the air, thumping her tail on the
floor in anticipation. When I gave her a neck rub along with the belly rub she
would close her eyes, tilt her head all the way back and moan with pleasure.
It took her several years to train her “masters” on proper
daily routines. If they lapsed she would stand in their presence and huff
loudly until they figured out what they had forgotten. Dinnertime was precisely
at 5:00 pm and, except for a readjustment period twice a year when humans
foolishly reset their clocks, she would begin agitating a couple of minutes
before the appointed hour.
She was the protector of the house—as long as that meant
being outside and barking at the deer, bear, coyotes and wolves. After years of
practice attempting to imitate her fellow canines, she came up with a modest
version of a howl and did not take kindly to the human laughter it prompted.
She was omega to anyone or anything’s alpha. If ten-pound Electra
(our Calico cat who died last year) chose to eat from Morgan’s food bowl, seventy-pound
Morgan would whimper—asking her human parents to solve the problem for her.
Morgan loved the
Northwoods. She learned to swim in 2001 when she waded into Shank Lake and
discovered her feet no longer touched bottom. She never tired of swimming or
chasing the Frisbee, and when forced to go back inside because she was
shivering from near freezing water, she would protest. As she stood there you
could almost hear her say, “I-I-I’m not c-c-c-c-old.” She loved swimming with her
people, but if they weren’t willing to join her in the water, she’d bring her
Frisbee and retrieve it for hours. She trained her humans to throw it just far
enough to allow a full-gallop run down the dock, leap and belly flop into the
lake, snaring the Frisbee in a stroke or two.
She knew the route between Savannah and Cincinnati and
Michigan. Awakening from a nap she would request the driver to lower the window
so she could sniff the country to know where she was. She insisted on a quick
sniff of any city we passed through to confirm we were on the right track. Once
we hit the dirt roads in Michigan she paced the whole way in, anticipating
freedom without collar. While the humans set up camp for her, she would trot
down to the dock and impatiently wait. If the wait was too long, we would hear
a splash and sometime later the drenched dog would appear.
She was marvelous
with small hands, allowing many unintended abuses as children learned to love
her. She was the chaperone as grandchildren first explored the woods on their
own.
Despite her self-image, she was not perfect. She snored and
she farted, sometimes acting like a junior high student who looks around
pretending not to be the culprit.
Morgan was without question the smartest of our dogs and
always interested in the world around her.
Were she still physically with us she would sense the tears
now forming in my eyes and lay her head in my lap, reminding me that everything
she taught me is still in my memory. True, I whisper back, but I miss your
huffing at my failures and your licks telling me I am forgiven.
~ Jim
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