verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Monday, May 31, 2010

Murphy's Awe


It was the perfect scene.  The wind was up, the waves were bright, the sun was warm, the sky was baby blue.  From the sea wall, the prettiest little double masted gaff-rigged boat was being brought in.  The couple had it all, right down to their sun-repellant clothing, polarized sunglasses, all-terrain shoes.  These people really know how to have fun, I thought. They know exactly what to do with a weather-perfect Sunday.  I was impressed.  These people make grand use of a Sunday.  Such ambitious fun.  I was very, very impressed.

But then along came Murphy.  Dear, dear Murphy. In the distance, barking was making a crescendo. It was the kind that said "I see land! I see land!" but in this case it meant "I see water! I see the water".  And then all of a sudden and from out of nowhere, this one-dog stampede named Murphy came crashing down the boat ramp and rocketed into the water like he was a magical amphibious machine.  

"Throw the ball, throw the ball!" he begged from the channel.

She threw, and threw, and threw.  Maven Murphy performed each fetch with Olympian execution and gusto.  Passers-by couldn't help but stop and marvel at his energy and happiness.  He pranced back and forth as she would stoop down to get the ball at the water's edge and the second it was locked into her snazzy mega ball launcher, he would bolt over the waves and out to retrieve his ball. On his way back, ball in teeth, he would snort-snort-snort, cutting through the waves while keeping his eyes locked onto his cheering fans.  

"Thank you! Oh, thank you for throwing the ball! Please, mother, please! Throw it again!" barked he.

And so...she threw, and she threw, and she threw, and she threw, and she threw, and she threw some more.  A teenaged chocolate lab just couldn't help himself and broke free from his spectator parents, leash flapping behind him as he bounded into the water after Murphy.  He so wanted to share!  Murphy handled the sudden disruption with exemplary sportsdogship, and allowed the youngster to take a few turns before returning to display his winning skills in this Fetch Open.

In the background, the couple with the pretty little double masted gaff-rigged sailboat were now exchanging hushed, unsportsman-like words through gritted grins and teeth.  He was the apparent expert, and she just wasn't getting that through that thick skull of hers, as they tried to get the trailered Subaru down the ramp, and the boat hoisted onto it. Did he just say winch?  Or wench? I wondered.  It had looked like so much fun--that boat, the duds, the picturesque-nesss of it all--but it sure wasn't sounding like fun.

In the meant time, Murphy was showing his stuff and working the onlooker crowd.  Each throw of the ball was met with the same energy and joy of that first pitch.  He was in the Zone, that magical Zone.  I wanted that.  He came towards me and let me meet him.  I found that he was just as amazing up close and personal. I asked for his autograph, a picture and a quick chat.  At 10 years old, he's the Master of Fun.  I hope that when I'm 10 in dog years, I can have such fun.   I am in awe, Murphy....


  1. What a guy! And what a great reminder about what's really important in life!

  2. Once again, the difference between 'looks like fun,' and 'fun' is explained by the expert. Well done.