Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog

“Once we got the joint just right, of course, it only made sense that we bring home a large, four-legged roommate with sharp toenails, large teeth, and exceedingly limited English-language skills to start tearing it apart again.” 

John and Jenny work tirelessly to refurbish their Florida bungalow home. They are proud of and emotionally attached to the immaculate oak floors and the refinished touches they’ve brought in to upgrade the house. The Grogans are not materialistic people, but John acknowledges the work and pride they’ve put into making their old rundown bungalow a charming home. This is one of many ominous warnings of the destruction Marley will bring to the house.

“Still, for all his juvenile antics, Marley was serving an important role in our home and in our relationship. Through his very helplessness, he was showing Jenny she could handle this maternal nurturing thing.” 

Despite his lack of discipline and his destructive nature, Marley plays a valuable role in the Grogan family. This sets the foundation for the theme of unconditional love. John is regularly frustrated by Marley, but he never doubts Marley’s place in the family, and he’s the one who protects Marley from Jenny’s postpartum ultimatum.

“And then, without lifting her face, she raised one arm up toward me, and I joined her on the couch and wrapped my arms around her. There the three of us stayed, locked in our embrace of shared grief.” 

It takes time for the Grogans to settle into their new family structure once they bring Marley into their home. They purchase him without knowing what to expect, and their own lack of discipline enhances Marley’s already disobedient nature. When Jenny invites John to join Marley in comforting her, they solidify their status as a supportive family. As devastating as the miscarriage is, the Grogans overcome the challenge and face their grief together.

“I thought back to Saint Shaun and how quickly I, a mere ten-year-old boy, had been able to teach him all he needed to know to be a great dog. I wondered what I was doing wrong this time.” 

John often compares Marley to Saint Shaun, and Marley always comes up short. John eventually learns to forgo comparisons with idols and love Marley unconditionally for who he is rather than who he isn’t. He’ll also learn that not every aspect of a dog’s nature is controlled by its master; there are hereditary and breed-specific behavioral issues likely contributing to Marley’s anxious and destructive disposition.

“Yet she was so heartsick about the wanton attack on our new house, the house we had worked so hard on, that she could not bear to deal with it or him.” 

Jenny cannot cope with the loss of her material possessions. Her anger over the destruction makes it difficult for her to deal with Marley. This foreshadows the wrath Jenny turns on Marley during her period of postpartum depression. Jenny’s love for Marley deepens as the story progresses, but John is much quicker to accept and love Marley unconditionally.

“They couldn’t speak English and I couldn’t speak Spanish, but that didn’t matter. We were in this together. Or almost together. I learned that day that in America pain relief is a luxury, not a necessity.” 

John occasionally notices the socioeconomic disparities surrounding him in Florida, but he can’t avoid them when he’s in the “indigent ward” for the delivery of his first baby. He feels awkwardly overdressed in his polo shirt, khakis, and Top-Siders, but the shared experience of becoming fathers unites the men in the labor ward. Despite giving birth in the same ward, Jenny’s experience is different from that of the women around her because the Grogans can afford an epidural, whereas the migrant mothers are “left to tough it out the old-fashioned way” without painkillers (106).

“Marley, our wild crashing bronco, was different around Patrick. He seemed to understand that this was a fragile, defenseless little human, and he moved gingerly whenever he was near him, licking his face and ears delicately.” 

John and Jenny don’t know what to expect from Marley when they bring home newborn Patrick. Just as Marley could sense Jenny’s grief and adjusted his demeanor to comfort her, he also recognizes that Patrick is a defenseless little human and adjusts his demeanor to be gentle around him. Jenny warns Marley that he’s toast if he makes one wrong move around the baby (108), and John can tell that she means it. Jenny loves Marley but will let him go from the family if he has any missteps around the baby, so John is relieved when Marley and Patrick become best friends.

“Either way, we agreed, he scared the hell out of people. That was just fine with us. His presence made the difference between us feeling vulnerable or secure in our own home. Even as we continued to debate his effectiveness as a protector, we slept easily in bed knowing he was beside us.” 

The Grogans’ neighborhood becomes more dangerous and violent as Marley enters adolescence. Marley is huge, even for his breed, and can appear intimidating. He has the potential to frighten intruders, a consideration that’s becoming more frequent for John and Jenny as more stabbings occur in their neighborhood. John and Jenny have grown to trust Marley with their helpless baby, but they also appreciate that his demeanor may frighten away criminals.

“He was the undisciplined, recalcitrant, nonconformist, politically incorrect free spirit I had always wanted to be, had I been brave enough, and I took vicarious joy in his unbridled verve.” 

Jenny demands that John get rid of Marley when she’s in the grip of postpartum depression. John realizes that Jenny is serious, and this brings him to appreciate Marley for all he is as opposed to being frustrated with Marley for all he isn’t. John risks Jenny’s volatile wrath to keep Marley in the family. His unconditional love pays off when Jenny emerges from her postpartum haze and returns to loving Marley herself. The time John spends with Marley during this period also contributes to Marley’s eventual success in obedience school.

“It all added up to the same thing: a dog its master could not control. A dog that had become a liability. A dog its owner had given up on.” 

John realizes how many dogs are in search of new homes due to their Marley-like behavior. His experience justifying Marley’s behavior lets him see through the newspaper ads’ coded language offering “lively” and “energetic” dogs to whoever is willing to take them. But he also recognizes his own responsibility to Marley and doesn’t want to give up on the dog who has become like family to him. Seeing so many dogs in need of new homes pushes John to decide he won’t give up on Marley, and he commits to training Marley instead of sending him away.

“In it a rugged yet sensitive, quintessentially heterosexual male goes about his family-man business.” 

John imagines the director of Marley’s film discovering him among the clips of movie footage. John occasionally fantasizes about stardom and loves attention from others. His writing voice is casual and sometimes sarcastic, and this image of himself is an example of his narrative style.

“I know you can’t help it.”

Marley’s storm anxiety does not ease with experience or age. John understands now that Marley is a victim of his own disposition. John has always been sympathetic toward Marley, but learning more about dogs and Labradors in particular brings John to an unconditional love for his flawed pet. He loves Marley despite knowing that he’ll likely never change.

“Each time we left, even for a half hour, we wondered whether this would be the time that our manic inmate would burst out and go on another couch-shredding, wall-gouging, door-eating rampage. So much for peace of mind.” 

John is no longer in denial about Marley’s nature. Marley proves to be a source of constant anxiety, and the family knows to anticipate destruction every time they return home. Peace of mind with regard to Marley’s behavior applies to both his social interactions and his emotional reactions, such as his tendency to destroy anything he can when left alone. His strength and energy were somewhat comforting in the rougher Palm Beach neighborhood, but the safer and more reserved Boca setting highlights Marley’s lack of social and emotional control.

“Woodhouse had nailed our dog and our pathetic, codependent existence. We had it all: the hapless, weak-willed masters; the mentally unstable, out-of-control dog; the trail of destroyed property; the annoyed and inconvenienced strangers and neighbors. We were a textbook case.” 

The mentally unstable dog and the weak-willed master in No Bad Dogs mirrors Marley and his relationship with the Grogans. Seeing his family’s situation described so accurately makes John wonder whether Marley really is abnormal and not just an overly energetic specimen of his species. He sympathizes with Marley, though, and rejects the textbook’s suggestion that a dog like Marley is best put to sleep. John has come to love Marley unconditionally, so he won’t even consider putting Marley down just for being himself.

“I had never thought of Marley as any kind of role model, but sitting there sipping my beer, I was aware that maybe he held the secret for a good life. Never slow down, never look back, live each day with adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness.” 

Marley’s role in the Grogan family evolves over their 13 years together. He begins as a companion and protector, then gradually takes on a more influential role as John reflects more on lessons learned than objects destroyed. John eventually reflects upon Marley as a mentor figure in the column following Marley’s death, elevating him another step above role model.

“I knew he was a victim of his own diminished mental capacity. He was the only beast on the whole beach dumb enough to guzzle seawater. The dog was defective. How could I hold that against him?” 

John is frustrated and embarrassed when Marley vomits and defecates in the ocean at the dog beach, but he’s also sympathetic. He understands that Marley doesn’t know not to drink seawater, and he doesn’t hold it against Marley because he’s accustomed to these antics. John reacts with sympathy rather than anger, a pattern that becomes common in his relationship with Marley.

“Marley had earned his place in our family. Like a quirky but beloved uncle, he was what he was. He would never be Lassie or Benji or Old Yeller; he would never reach Westminster or even the county fair. We knew that now. We accepted him for the dog he was, and loved him all the more for it.” 

Marley is well into his adult years by the time the family moves to Pennsylvania. John understands there’s no expecting Marley to change at this point, and he no longer necessarily wants Marley to change either. John stops holding Marley to Saint Shaun’s impossibly high standards. No longer comparing Marley to a former family pet enables John to accept and appreciate the lessons Marley offers at this stage in life.

“Marley would not afford us the luxury of such denial. As we watched him grow gray and deaf and creaky, there was no ignoring his mortality—or ours.” 

John and Jenny know that Marley’s life will end eventually, but witnessing his aging brings the inevitability of death much closer. Marley’s decline is gradual, losing one sense or motor skill at a time, but with compounded effects on his overall health. Marley is roughly equivalent to John’s age at the time of John’s 40th birthday; now he’s surpassed his master in his lifespan development and is preparing John for another set of challenges to come later in life while also preparing John to face his own inevitable end someday.

“The crisis had been averted, but bigger questions loomed. How much longer could he continue like this? And at what point would the aches and indignities of old age outstrip the simple contentment he found in each sleepy, lazy day?” 

Marley’s gradual decline offers John the opportunity to reflect upon his impact and appreciate each recovery, but it also puts John and Jenny in the position of having to decide when enough is enough. Marley is too old to undergo surgery at this point, so each medical emergency could be his last. There’s no hope that his sight or hearing will return, or that his arthritis will disappear. He’s fading slowly but surely, and John dreads having to decide when the complications and pain outweigh the simple day-to-day joy in Marley’s life.

“The freedom was liberating, but the house seemed cavernous and empty, even with the kids bouncing off the walls.” 

The Grogans experience a preview of life without Marley when he stays at the kennel the night before their Florida holiday trip. With Marley out of the house for the night, John and Jenny can walk about freely without him constantly underfoot, and they don’t have to sneak around their own home to avoid attracting his attention. It feels liberating to freely walk through their home without a constant four-legged companion, but even the sound of the three children isn’t enough to fill the void left by Marley’s absence.

“He taught me to appreciate the simple things—a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.” 

John’s grief over Marley’s passing culminates in a column dedicated to Marley even though he is possibly the world’s worst dog. Most of the lessons Marley offers took place before he reached his senior years, but John has been too wrapped up in navigating his own midlife experiences to reflect deeply on what he’s learned these past 13 years. The column reflecting on Marley is John’s catharsis as he works through his grief, and it paves the way for him to move forward.

“Was it possible for a dog—any dog, but especially a nutty, wildly uncontrollable one like ours—to point humans to the things that really mattered in life? I believed it was.” 

John and Jenny began their pet-owning adventure with lofty ideas about the ideal family dog based on vague childhood memories. John eventually learns that a dog doesn’t need to be perfectly trained to teach its master a lesson or two. Looking back on his 13 years with Marley, John realizes that an imperfect dog is just as capable—possibly even more capable—than any well-behaved dog when it comes to drawing out the simple joys in life.

“Most who wrote and called simply wanted to express their sympathies, to tell me they, too, had been down this road and knew what my family was going through. Others had dogs whose lives were drawing to their inevitable ends; they dreaded what they knew was coming, just as we had dreaded it, too.” 

John’s column about Marley and his passing draws the largest demonstration of reader support he’s ever experienced. He is comforted to know that he’s not alone in his unwavering love for a poorly trained and often inconvenient dog. He’s also not alone in the dread he experienced prior to Marley’s passing. John is constantly looking for locations, experiences, and angles for his columns; Marley and the lessons he taught were there in front of John all along.