Last night, I was supposed to be studying for my 8am, 20% of my grade, use-it-or-lose-it 100 question OB final. I am a horrible study-er (is it studier? that sounds like I am more of a "stud" than others, which is obviously also true). Anyways, because I am so bad at studying, I did several other activities like: search Craigslist, stalk bloggers, hang out in the library hoping to catch a glimpse of motivation, and then go out to Chilis in the suburbs to have dinner with Joshua's dad, who flew into town for a whirlwind meeting with the Higher-Ups at his company. I also managed to read a wonderfully humorous book that Mel lent to me, entitled Marley and Me. I highly recommend it - it's hilarious, easy to read, and if you love dogs like I do (especially labs!), you will love it.

Now I am going to go ahead and ruin the entire ending of the book, so if you are desperate to read about Marley with any hint of a surprise ending, STOP HERE.

Ok,you were warned. Here's the thing - MARLEY DIES. Since this is a memoir, you might think I saw this major plot twist coming, but I was just plowing through the book happily, chuckling at the many misadventures of this out of control animal. There were signs that death was impending; his stomach flipped, the vet mentioned putting him down (yeah, I know, that one should have been a BIG CLUE), and the author noticed Marley aging for pretty much the last 4 chapters. By this point, I should have been emotionally ready to say good-bye to this dog that I had never met.

Or not. If you are going to read this book, please come more prepared than I was - a box of tissues should do it. We were supposed to be getting ready to go out to dinner while I was finishing the book (who am I kidding, I was supposed to be STUDYING), but instead I was sitting at the dining room table CRYING.MY.EYES.OUT. Not a sniffle, sniffle sort of "oh, that's too bad" cry. This was the heaving, gasping, sort of crying that I usually associate with the end of Forrest Gump - you know, when he's standing at Jenny's grave and telling her how smart little Forrest is?

I never had a dog growing up (my brother's allergic, my dad's ambivalent, and we lived in a shoebox), but my grandfather always had Labs like Marley - Hunting dogs with lots of energy who are absolutely devoted to their owners and become as much a part of the family as any parent or child. My mom still tears up talking about the many dogs who were part of her childhood. Last year, my brother finally broke my father down and convinced him that despite the threat of asthmatic asphyxiation, his life would not be complete without a dog. Unfortunately, the dog Aaron brought home was a lab/pit bull mix who looked a little too pit bull and had way too much energy for the shoebox and the neighborhood. Yes, the pit bull breed suffers discrimination, and I don't want to talk about that here. Basically, my parents' homeowners insurance said, "Ditch the dog, or we ditch you."

Sunny the Discriminated Pit Bull slept on Aaron's bed. He went to bed when Aaron went to bed, and woke up with him. He followed him through the house and stuck his nose to the window when he was gone to look for him. He would run off for different reasons, but check back at the window every few minutes. When a car pulled in the driveway, he was so deliriously happy that someone was back to play with him, he would run circles around the kitchen until he slid into the stove. He would catch a glimpse of his tail behind him and instead of just chasing it in a circle, he would leap backwards into the air to "catch it". He was a wonderful, friendly dog whose only mistake was being born a stereotype. The day Aaron had to give Sunny away was the worst day of his life - if anything will make a 19 year old boy cry like that, it's a dog. He didn't speak to my parents for weeks. We still do not mention that dog's name around him.

So if you can handle the fact that Marley is going to kick it (luckily after a very long, very adventurous life), I think everyone who has ever loved a dog should read this book. We already know that the first thing we're doing after I graduate - and I mean that very afternoon - is getting a puppy. Getting your first dog as a couple seems like the ultimate grown-up activity to me. (Kids are the ultimate terrifying grown-up activity that we are currently postponing, much to the dismay of the in-laws).

I am so tempted to name our future dog Marley.