That doggone Marley movie

I spent a good portion of my Sunday afternoon cursing Owen Wilson and his butterscotch locks.

For nearly a year, I've managed to avoid seeing "Marley and Me," the movie in which Wilson's character owns an insane but loving yellow Lab named Marley.

That streak ended Sunday, when a casual flip through the channels brought me eye-to-eye with a frustrated John Grogan -- played by Wilson -- chasing Marley, a cafe table dragging on the dog's leash as he sniffed after a passing pooch.

I was hooked.

I read the book. I know how it ends but indulged in the movie anyway. About an hour later, I sat balled up in a corner of my couch, sobbing. Oh, there were tears and lip quivers and that weird huffing noise you make when you try to catch your breath and muffle the drama of your crying.

The fussing led to a headache, makeup stains on my cheeks and tear-soaked sweatshirt cuffs. For someone whose best friend once accused her of being "dead inside," this was quite a reaction.

I have two explanations.

One, my family had a yellow Lab named Billie Jean who looked almost identical to the dog who played the role of Marley. Two, it was just about a year ago that my border collie mutt Holly joined Billie Jean in the hereafter or wherever dogs go when they die.

Actually, there's a third explanation. Aside from looking like Marley, Billie Jean shared Marley's mannerisms. Many times we came home to find the garbage can knocked over, its contents scattered on the floor. Billie would be hiding under the kitchen table -- a wad of foil clenched in her teeth -- in an attempt to distance herself from the mess.

My parents bought several slipcovers to disguise the furniture Billie maimed when she mistook our couches for chew toys. I cringed whenever I came home from school and saw bits of yellow foam in a path from the stairs to the destroyed couch or the remains of the couch on the floor when her digestive system rejected it.

She jumped on guests, snacked on shoes and gnawed on wooden table legs, even when we coated them in yucky-tasting spray.

But when some middle-school boy made fun of me or when I stubbed my toe on an end table, she was there to lick away the tears. If a toddler tugged on her ear, she leaned into it and didn't snap. She just knew.

As a Catholic, I believe that only humans have souls and can go to heaven. So, when my dogs died and I cried about never seeing them again, my dad comforted me. He said, "Heaven is a perfect place. It wouldn't be perfect without the pets we loved."

I hope so.

Vanessa Renderman covers Tri-Town for The Times. You can reach her at vanessa.renderman@nwi.com