Ira Grandburg | May 22, 2015

Special thanks to author Ira Grandberg and Frank Wnek, editor of The Morganeer, the Journal of the 3/4 Morgan Group, Ltd. for allowing us to reproduce this article.

My name is Ira. Not a very “British” first name I admit, but my best friend is definitely British. I own a 1960 Plus 4 Morgan. My friend gives me the same joy and love as any dog owner would receive.

With son Tim after a “long run.”

My relationship with this breed goes way back to my days at Columbia University School of Architecture, back in the late sixties, when one of my classmates had to suddenly go back over “the pond” to deal with a family emergency. He asked that I take care of his “pet” until he returned, which he never did. It was the same vintage 1960 dark green Morgan that I would come to own 45 years later.

We had lots of fun together. It was frisky and loved to run after other “dogs” on the road. We took trips up to Boston and Rhode Island, late at night, to see a girl I knew. In reflection, these trips were more to play with my best friend on the open road than to see my lady friend.

We had exciting times together. Once, late one night, when driving on the Cross Bronx Expressway under the George Washington Bridge Apartments, a high-rise tenant was kind enough to toss a ginger ale bottle (or a Heineken) out the window (I assume due to the green glass all over the interior.) It made a 50 caliber hole right thru the hood. A couple of miles per hour faster and I would not be sharing this memory.

The Morgan at the “Dog Park.”

On another occasion I was driving a bit too fast under the 59th Street Bridge and hit an unseen “back hole” only to have the hood fly over my head onto the roadway. As with any pet I had to meekly get out of the car and pick up after him, in this case a bonnet and a broken limb- an unforseen carpentry fix.

The last fond remembrance was finally taking my Dad on a road trip. He never did like pets. I took a turn too fast and the door flew open resulting in a near-orphan experience. He immediately left us to finish our touring and found other means of ground transportation.

In looking fondly back over those grand few years, I realize that I never was impressed by driving a special “sports car”, but rather I felt a special connection to a friend. Just as your terrier has an aroma after a spirited exercise, my Morgan had the wonderful body essence of oil and burning electrical wires. I was forced to give up my pet when finances and life changes necessitated a parting of the ways. Yet I never throughout adulthood forgot my friend and always knew I made the wrong decision in letting him go.

Fast forward, forty years. I’m married, have three grown children, two grand kids, have a thriving architectural practice, tried flying, but no pet. Added an Australian Sheppard just to bridge the gap. A friend and fellow architect, Tom Smith, took me for a ride in his yellow Morgan, and invited me to the Dog Show – at Limerock. I was hooked. There were so many breeds to look at and some were so, so… pretty- the toy poodles or boxers of the auto world. Their proud owners displaying their alter-egos. Then I came upon the Jags, Austin Healeys, MGs and finally, lo and behold – the Morgans. Love at first sight! I wanted to take one home with me right then and there. Could the thrill of getting that special Christmas present still exist. You betcha!

Grandson Andrew “waiting for the day.”

A few weeks later I went to another show at Tanglewood and saw “my” Morgan. I wanted it- it wanted me. The price was right but I first had to make sure it had its shots and was “healthy”. I was introduced to a great Vet, Larry Eckler, who performed a physical and I was now ready to get the papers and bring him home. He was the pick of the litter. I was so happy that I immediately went out and bought the play toys- wrenches, lights, mirrors, insignia coffee cup, t-shirt, hat, and other toys from Larry’s PETCO warehouse.

My first few months the Morgan and I both needed training. We went for evening “walks” on the country roads around our neighborhood. I placed him back in his garage house and tucked him in. Sitting there with that smiling grill provided me with unimaginable joy. He was so beautiful and peaceful, but he always looked like he wanted to go out and play.

After months of training I took him out in public. Early one fog-drenched fall mall morning, I took Morgan to a special Dog Park, in New Canaan Ct. Alone, driving thru the Connecticut countryside, I was mesmerized by my view over the hood and how Morgan and I became one. I was piloting a Spitfire, ready to do battle. Upon arrival at Caffeine and Carburetors we were given our “slot” and I was so proud for visitors to admire Morgan. I let children sit with Morgan and compared notes with other owners. Being a very solitary person, it was a big jump for me to mix with others. However, Morgan helped me along. I met the Cesar Milan of the Morgan breed, Spyder Bulyk, who I instantly liked for his friendliness, enthusiasm and love of the breed. This was new territory for me. What I didn’t like was the obvious difference between experts and novices. The Owners really acted like ” their dogs were prettier than mine” or could beat mine up. Some of the “car talk” was intimidating. Many of the owners simply spent a lot of money on their pedigrees and were simply show-offs. I really didn’t have to play with them or want to.

Arriving at Caffeine & Carburetors car show.

Driving home, in the warm fall morning, I felt truly fulfilled. I gave Morgan a bath and let him bask in the sun.

These last few years Morgan and I have grown old together. Every fall I take him to see the Vet, Larry Eckler, and since Morgan doesn’t do well in the cold, I have Larry crate him for the winter. This year Dr. Larry informed me that Morgan had a weak bladder which would have to be replaced. Since I have had similar problems, I totally understood and the surgery will go forward. My only limitation will be to not let Morgan get overheated, which he has a tendency to do when he plays too much. He is still being paper trained in that I always find “puddles” on the floor.

When I pick Morgan up in a few weeks, we can begin another year. I hope we can grow old together.