She told me that His Royal Highness Prince Morgan Beaglehoven I (aka Morgan, Morgz, Morgy, Beagle Brains, Get back here right now, Get out of that, How the hell did you get out and How the hell did you get your paws on that) had deteriorated rapidly, to the point where he could barely walk. She told me that the next day she would call the vet.
I immediately started blubbering. Morgan has been my best friend since I was 10 years old (16 long years). We got him when he was a little over a year old, he was supposed to be my sister Meagans dog. However, the way things fell he ended up being my dog. We were inseperable during my teenage years, we used to get up at 6am on school mornings to go for a walk (ending in a race to see who could get home first - it was always him), if I was going to hang out with my friends he came along, and I often spent my afternoons hanging out with him. Much to my parents annoyance, he often slept on my bed (taking up most of it) and he nearly always came when I called his name.
I have so many fond memories of his life with me. I can still remember one time (of many) he got out, and Mum kept calling him. I called once, and he bolted into my arms. I can recall the time we found an old softdrink bottle and turned it into a footy, running around like mad things. This of course ended with him doing his hamstring, which he proceeded to milk. If I wasn't touching him, he was shaking, and if I dared get up to go and get some food or go to the toilet he'd howl the house down.
There were numerous times he got into food he wasn't meant to, there was the time that he used a bike tyre hung up on a door handle to get himself out and numerous times he outsmarted me (one incident led to him being hit by a car, which was a dreadful day). He loved to follow his nose, and anything that smelt interesting was fair game. His favourite place (other than my bed) was the Oakey Creek, often times we went swimming there (one time we were both unlucky enough to end up landing in some rather not-so-nice plants, and spent the rest of the day very sore and very itchy!). When I got into photography, he was right there with me, braving the Warrego Highway to get some snazzy sunsets and being my model (until he got sick of having the flash go off in his eyes, I could never get him to look at a camera after that!).
At the end of the day, I will never forget him lying on the bed with me, watching Neighbours and Big Brother '03, then waking up on a Saturday morning and watching Rage together (he had a great taste in music).
So yesterday, I headed back out to Oakey to say good-bye. I got there and I could see he was done for. He didn't even get up when I came in, and his tail would never wag again (although he did manage to polish off a whole bag of Schmackos - even on his death bed he was an eating machine). I let him out for the last time to toilet, and he could barely walk. I spent most of the day on the laundry room floor with him, crying. About an hour before his death, we took him to the creek for the last time - he didn't even jump out of the car. He raised his head, the old smells coming to him, but he couldn't follow them anymore. He barely managed to waddle down to the creek (with a lot of help from Meagan and I) where he had his last drink (of his favourite creek water) and sat down in the mud, wanting to go for a swim but unable to. We took him back home one last time, and waited for Mum to come home, when we took him to the vet and said our last good-byes.
Even though I know it was the right thing to do, because it wasn't fair for him to suffer, I can't shake the hollow sadness that has settled over me. Morgan helped me through my teenage years, through the bullying, through the good times and the bad. It hurts so bad to know I will never see him again and that he was so close to his 17th birthday, but I'm glad he's now okay.
Good-bye old friend and thank you. See you on the other side.
RIP Morgan 8/8/98-28/7/14
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