Murdock loved hot dogs. He had quite an experienced palate, but hot dogs were a winner. I used them for enrichment games and treats, but also, to hide medicine. He, of course, knew this, but determined the cost was worth the reward. As he got older, and the list of medications grew, we were going through a lot of hot dogs. Store brand turkey dogs were always on my grocery list. But in his final months, he decided he no longer wanted anything to do with hot dogs. I don’t know what changed – perhaps it was his way of telling me “no more medicine.”

During his final days, Murdock had visitors; one of whom was his walker/sitter, who absolutely adored him and his quirks. (She once told me that he was the most unique dog she had ever met.) When she came to say goodbye, she brought a package of Oscar Mayer hot dogs. I warned her that his taste had become very discerning. But she offered him one and he gobbled it up.  And then another. And another. It was as if he was shaming me for buying store brand. On that sad night, she and I laughed through tears – just another display of Murdock’s eccentricities.

The day after Murdock departed, I went for a run. I was in the fog that early grief brings, having just spent the first night without my boy. Running has always been a way for me to stop thinking, just for an hour – and I needed that. My route took me on a side street, parallel to a road that goes through my city’s downtown. As I ran, I looked up to see the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile heading towards me. I am a skeptic – so while I wanted to believe this was “something,” I didn’t allow myself to.  I turned the corner onto the main street and headed in the opposite direction towards home. The Wienermobile that had passed me had then circled, and was again heading toward me. My doubt evaporated. I knew. 

In the midst of the worst hours of my life, I remember smiling and saying “okay Murdock, I believe, I know you are here (and I get it, you like name brand).” It was among the surest messages I have ever felt in my life, and even now, 3 ½ years later, it remains one of my most vivid memories.

I have had a few of these experiences since Murdock departed – messages that are just so clear, they are unquestionable. That takes a lot for me. Rainbows or cardinals or meeting a new black lab on my walks are certainly reminders of Murdock and other departed loved ones.  But, I need to be hit over the head, to feel it in my soul, before my questioning mind believes there is a message meant just for me. When it happens, it is just so beautifully clear.

I believe that these messages mean that my relationship with Murdock did not end when he physically left. I have yet to dream about him, or to think I hear his footsteps or the clinking of the tags on his collar. But Murdock comes to me when I need him most, and makes his presence absolutely, undeniably clear. He communicates with me in a way that is as unique and special as the bond between us, and so that my skeptical self knows, without a doubt, that he is still with me. I am so grateful that on one of my most difficult days, my boy sent me the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.