My old bull terrier, Murphy, turned a whopping twelve-years old this past Sunday.  The average life expectancy for bull terriers is between eleven and thirteen years, but Murphy shows few signs of slowing down.  Granted, she’s always been pretty slow, but she still gets the zoomies before bed and loves her rawhides (now she eats “rawhide-free” pork chomps, which are safer and better for her stomach).

Murphy has relaxed more as she’s gotten older, but she gets anxious around other dogs.  I’m going to inquire about putting her on canine Prozac—Dr. Fiancée assures me it exists for dogs, and that Murphy would benefit from it—just so she can relax a bit more when she’s in unfamiliar environments.  Like most modern Americans, and especially American women, Murphy may soon be taking an SSRI.

Regardless, Murphy is relaxed when it’s us hanging out.  She spends more time sleeping now than she used to, and enjoys sticking to the bedroom, especially since I tossed the rug in the den (she doesn’t like the wood flooring on her nails and paws).  But she is still a sweet, albeit sassy, old girl, and I love her dearly.

With that, here is “TBT^2: Happy Birthday, Murphy!“:

This past Saturday my sassy old bull terrier, Murphy, celebrated her eleventh birthday (humorously enough, she and my recent ex-girlfriend share the same birthday).

The old girl is doing well enough.  I adopted Murphy when had just turned eight, and I can tell she is slowing down as the years progress.  She still has a bout of the “zoomies” in the evenings before bedtime, but that usually wears her out.  Mostly, she spends her days lounging like a diva and begging for scraps from me, her all-too-manipulable owner.  As I write this post, she’s relaxing on the floor near me, and I can tell she is considering whether or not she wants to get up and go out—which, when she hears the clackety-clacking of my keyboard, she usually wants to do!

According to the American Kennel Club, the life expectancy for a bull terrier is between twelve and thirteen years, though I have known of bull terriers that live longer (interestingly enough, the miniature bull terrier has a similar life expectancy).  Other than slowing down a bit, I don’t think Murphy is going anywhere anytime soon, but she is nearing the end of the breed’s average life expectancy.

Here’s hoping the old girl has at least a few more birthdays in her.  She’s a good, albeit sassy, dog, and I’m thankful to have this chubby, stinky old diva in my life.

With that, here is 15 June 2023’s “TBT: Happy Birthday, Murphy!”

My sweet, bossy, chunky, lazy dog, Murphy, turns ten today!  She is a bull terrier, a notoriously stubborn yet loyal breed.  Here’s a picture of her from a few days ago:

I adopted Murphy in 2021 from the Bull Terrier Rescue Mission after her original owner turned her over to a North Carolina animal shelter.  What a terrible thing to be abandoned after eight years!

But his callous decision was Murph’s gain—I hope!—and mine.  We immediately took to each other, and while she loves many people, she’s always most excited when she sees me.

She is a good dog, and I consider myself fortunate to have her as my first.  Other than her innate orneriness, extreme stubbornness, and tireless neediness, she’s perfect.  Those might all sounds like criticisms, but they’re just part of what make her so special.

I love you, Murphy!

With that, here is 15 June 2022’s “Happy Birthday, Murphy!“:

Today my dog Murphy turns nine-years old.  According to the records I have from The Bull Terrier Rescue Mission, she was born 15 June 2013, which is a pretty easy date to remember.

Last summer I suddenly, inexplicably went a bit dog crazy.  I was not looking for a bull terrier at all, but stumbled upon one on at Petfinder.  I spoke with a representative from BTRM, and we realized that that particular dog would not be a good fit for me due to his advanced age and delicate health issues.

She put my information into their database and said it might be a few months before a dog came available in my area.  One week later, while moving a then-girlfriend to Athens, Georgia, I got a call from BTRM asking me to foster an older girl who was good with children and other dogs.

About ten days later, I had Murphy.

She was a mess at the time—a bad rash, creaky joints, uncut toenails—but to me, she was perfect.  I knew the day I picked her up in North Carolina that she was my dog, and I was her human.

Two months later, I formally adopted Murphy.  A few months after that she had her six-month checkup, and the veterinarian said she looked like a completely different dog.

She’s a bit chunky around the middle (so am I!), but I love her.

Happy Birthday, Murphy!