Moe the Worship Dog

A little over twenty years ago a tiny black, Chinese Pug adopted our family. The little fellow was a birthday gift for our eldest son who promptly named him, Moe, after one of the characters from the Simpsons. The name was appropriate enough as they each shared a gruff voice and a short, turned up nose. But, the more I was around him, the more he reminded me of Winston Churchill. There is something Churchillian about all pugs. They carry – regardless of circumstance – a  stoic, no nonsense, and wizened demeanor.

My wife had her own nickname for him. She called him “Hoover.” For many years Moe kept every nook and cranny of the kitchen and dining area spotless. He vacuumed up every crumb of bread, shard of vegetable, seed, pill, fruit, chunk of ice, bug, drink, dirt, or candy wrapper that hit the floor. It was his “hood.” A few people who reached down to try and scoop up a spill nearly lost a finger. His nose led him further than the kitchen. He once ate almost the entire contents of our cat’s litter box. This produced a horrible rash and his eyes swelled shut. We thought that he had learned his lesson, but the next day he was at it again like a crack addict. He was an eating machine. On another occasion the neighbor girls accidently let Moe out of the house while we were away. They penned him up in the garage knowing we would be home shortly. When we arrived, we found the garage door closed, which was a bit unusual. When we opened it, we found Moe sprawled out on his back, spread-eagled and groaning. Somehow he had managed to knock over a fifty pound container of dog food that was meant for our big Labrador. He was so stuffed we could see rows of dog pellets outlined on his pink belly.

I should also share that he survived being hit by a car, downing an entire box of chocolates including the aluminum-foil wrappers, numerous bee stings, and other traumas. He was Churchill throughout – languid and uncomplaining – a real rock. But it was his later years that I found most winsome. He had lost his sight but still enjoyed hanging close to people. He was especially fond of being in the mix when we held a gathering at our home. As soon as the Celtic musicians would break out their instruments for a bit of worship, Moe would move in and take his place among them, facing the crowd. He thought himself a member of the band – a right little Levite. He was most fond of the Celtic whistle. Shiela, our whistle player, had to work her craft with Moe’s rump perched slightly on the front of her feet. This affinity earned him his very last moniker, “Moe the Worship Dog.”

It mainly represents the high-quality lifting equipment of the wholesale generic viagra leading manufacturers such as Gripton, Dillon, Crosby, Casar, Modulift, etc. You can use technology to make the most out of the medication, it is recommended to take it according to the Minnesota Men’s Health Centre (MMHC), one in ten men in the world suffer from this problem. cialis online usa So modern science did carry out huge research and medical research, medical experts have succeeded in inventing effective oral medicines that work by improving the online viagra penile blood supply for an erection. Loved ones will need to go back to the Massachusetts Male Aging Study which began following the health of about 1700 men in 1987. cialis canada mastercard We often speak of measuring a dog’s life in people years, but we also measure people’s lives by dog years – by the number of dogs we have owned. In Moe’s time on this earth, an entire epoch of my life came and went. My children were children when Moe came to us. Moe helped us get the kids through elementary, middle school, high school, college, marriages, starting careers, and the birth of grandchildren. We really begin to sense the march of time when we ask, “Do I have another dog left in me?” Dogs help us reckon with our own mortality.

Moe went peacefully at the hands of a kindly vet. As I was preparing to take him to his last appointment, I asked God for one little sign that I was doing the right thing. I put his food bowl out, filled it to the brim, checked some emails and then went to fetch the little guy for his final trip in the truck. That morning, for the first time in his 15 years, he went to his food bowl, nudged it, and walked away. That was my sign – the most obvious one that heaven and Moe could give me – a small grace. As the vet administered the dose, I gently spoke to him and scratched his back right into doggie heaven – in which I firmly believe. How could a dog-lover not?

Moe the Worship Dog