Five years ago, an irascible little hound we would name Maggie came home with us from an adoption event.
My first thought yesterday was “how did five years go by so fast?”
Seems like it just happened last month, and she has been my constant companion since, as I had retired just as we got her. In those five years, I’ve never taken an overnight trip so she doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up and not see me. And vice versa.
She has become the Hobbes of my world where I play the ever-aging Calvin, and she even has her own account on X (@WonderBeagle1) so the imagined conversations we have between us can be shared with everyone else. Much like her Dad, she is one sarcastic, sassy individual.
We were told on that Saturday five years ago when we saw her at an adoption event at a nearby Petco put on by the good people at HART (Homeless Animal Rescue Team) that Maggie had somehow managed to find her way into a kill shelter in South Carolina. The demand for rescues was low in this rural area, so HART got her and brought her up to the Northern Virginia area in hopes of finding her a forever home.
We had just lost our dog of 15 years a few months earlier, so my wife had gone to this event the week before and brought home a video for me to look at. I was intrigued by the little criminal, so we were there the next week. One look at her was all I needed, as they say dogs choose their owners. This one gave me a look that said “I want to go where you go.”
The rest is history.
Over the last five years, she has gone where I go, or at least wants to much to my wife’s dismay. If I go work outside in the yard for more than a minute, she makes it very well known that she NEEDS to be outside with me in her field of vision. If I walk by the den, there could be a room full of people and she could be sound asleep, but her head pops up as if to say “where are you going and why aren’t you taking me with you?”
The first night she came home with us, she crawled into my lap and let out a big sigh, as if to say “I’m finally home.” Dogs don’t speak English, but I told her that night if she ever needed anything, all she had to do was find me (she had just had an accident in the house) and she has seemed to not only understand this, but has made it the ruling force in her life. There were no more accidents, and she now routinely walks past others closer to her to find me when she needs anything, from food to chasing an unruly squirrel taunting her in the window.
She does this because she learned early on that everyone else in the house can say no to her, but I cannot. It’s because if you’ve owned dogs most of your life like I have, you know you get about 10 years of joy, then one day of incredible heartbreak. As Kirk Herbstreit said one day on ESPN after the death of his dog Ben, the weakness of the species is they just don’t live long enough to provide the love and enjoyment we appreciate so much.
Every time that has happened, I’ve always thought if I could have anything in the world, I’d want one more day to throw the tennis ball and do the things with my dog I didn’t have time to do when they were younger. I decided I would make that mistake no more, so if she wants something, my reaction is everything else can wait. Let’s go.
She loves it. My family does not. “What do I have to do to get attention like that?” is a common complaint around here.
She has two standards of behavior for me versus the rest of the family, as she gets very excited when anyone else comes to the house, while I’m a given. I’m always here and always will be, so with me, she walks back to my office and without breaking stride jumps in my lap and noses the keyboard I was using to one side. My lap is her place and she believes she’s entitled to it at any time she wishes.
My wife will offer to take her outside, but she will only accept as a last resort. I do it most of the time, and with me, she won’t hear that word she hates that sounds like “no.” For others, going outside is a task to be completed in as quick a time as possible. With me, there is plenty of time to sniff all of God’s creations, and occasionally pick up a tennis ball and glare at me as if to say “are you feeling lucky, punk? You think you can get this tennis ball away from me?”
My wife complains I give her too many treats, and while she will eat her daily meals without delay when served by my wife, I made the mistake once of sprinkling shredded cheese on top of the bowl of kibble, and now when I give it to her plain, there is a delay as she stares at me as if asking “did you forget something?”
Yeah, she’s spoiled with her various sweaters, coats and blankets. She lays on the furniture, goes where she wants when she wants, and has a fulltime maintenance man in me. My wife even turns on soothing music and wraps her in a blanket when she naps on the den sofa, referring to it as her “spa.” It’s a million miles away from what I envision was a cold concrete floor in a kill shelter.
But she’s here now and will be pampered the rest of her days. Ironically, we tried to adopt a different dog before seeing Maggie, and the adoption group turned us down. They made us fill out an exhaustive form, then told us we were too old and that the dog in question needed younger and more active owners.
Occasionally I think “I hope that other dog is doing well.”
But I got the better end of the deal. And will forever be thankful that it worked out the way it did.
All as a large dog sitting on my lap looks back at me as if to say “me too.”
Great story. I got scared there for a minute. So glad you have more days of enjoyment ahead!!!
I often tell her given our ages, we’re walking the Green Mile together 🙂