Maggie is gone.

She had been sick for the last several months with nearly every horrible thing that can happen to a Boxer dog, and finally it just became too much. We took her to the emergency vet on Sunday and she didn’t come home. She’s better off, the pain is gone, she has found peace, and so on. All the standard things people always say absolutely apply here, and as usual, none of them help very much.

Maggie knew how to press the top of her head right into my chest when I needed it. Maggie smelled like maple syrup. Maggie loved having her belly rubbed, and cheese, and her big pillow on the couch. Maggie hated thunderstorms and wanted to hide under my office desk until they were over. Maggie limped out on arthritic hips and a bum leg to hop around in the yard under the giant oak tree with me because no matter how old she got or how much it hurt, she was still a puppy on the inside and she wanted to play.

Maggie was the first dog to notice Simon in his crib as we brought him home, and I will never forget the amazing look on her face when she saw him.

For eleven years, this beautiful, soulful dog loved me and I loved her. I have a 77 pound hole in my chest, and it hurts. I hope it always does a little bit; in that way, she’s still here.

One year ago yesterday, we miraculously got her back after this sequence of events:

• Horrible life with previous owner (she lived under a bed for a year)
• Return to the Humane Society
• A couple of months alone in a visiting room with little attention (the main kennel was too stressful)
• Nine days as a foster dog with Molly and Tess
• Twelve hours placed with a potential adoptive home
• One stupid decision by that potential adoptive home to put a special needs dog alone in a backyard with a crappy fence
• Three weeks on the street in and around Cooper-Young in below-freezing temperatures, apparently including a few trips to some truly scary neighborhoods
• A heart-stopping moment where we followed up a great tip from someone who saw one of our 200 signs and we actually laid eyes on her
• A frustrating couple of hours of being chased by us and neighborhood kids around train tracks and abandoned scrap yards (she was too scared and freaked out to come to us)
• Three days of being actively hunted by us around the clock
• A full-on canvassing effort by several generous Humane Society dog-walking colleagues to locate and help catch her
• Me seeing her cornered in a mess of scrap metal, climbing down in there, picking her up, and handing her to Molly

And now, she’s a wonderful, happy, well-adjusted snugglepuppy.  Her meds certainly help, as does being part of a pack in a protective and loving environment. She sleeps between the pillows in her puppy pocket, she snores and grunts and yawns like a beagle, she chases Tess around a huge (and extremely secure) backyard, and most of all, she truly seems to enjoy her life.

A life that started all over, one year ago yesterday.

Photos: Steven Bryant

]]> http://www.semanticnoise.com/2010/02/shady-might-be-four/feed/ 5 http://www.semanticnoise.com/2009/09/pearls-birthday/ http://www.semanticnoise.com/2009/09/pearls-birthday/#comments Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:45:21 +0000 jmcmurry http://www.semanticnoise.com/?p=110 Mama dog is reckoned to be 10 today.  She’s the boss.  She still acts like a puppy.

Why do we call her Peach?  Because she’s round and fuzzy and all sweet on the inside.