[Dailydrool] The Life of Maggie

[Tim Mayer]

In keeping with my recent history of writing memorials for my dogs, I'm
going to indulge myself one more time and write an essay sharing the life of
Maggie with my friends. (And I hope I don't need to do this again for many,
many years.) Maggie left us almost a week ago, but please bear with me as I
reminisce.

Maggie was a leftover. An unwanted dog. The family who had her told me they
were going to dump her at the animal shelter, because they were moving to
Alaska and didn't want to take her there. But they were taking their other
dogs.hmmm.first sign of trouble? She was young, about a year old, skinny,
and very clingy. Needy. Little did I know just how needy she was. But after
evaluating the puppy for a weekend, I made Maggie an official member of the
family. It was early November, so I called her my birthday present. And not
knowing exactly how old she was, from then on we shared my birthday as if it
was hers as well.

This skinny, clingy girly quickly became a problem. She tore up the house.
Not just the things in the house, but the house itself. She chewed up the
furniture. She chewed up the carpet - I still have large duct tape patches
where she shredded it. She chewed through the cabinet walls to get inside.
She even chewed the corners off the brick hearth. Well, it was winter, and
too cold to keep her outside. And besides, she chewed up everything out
there too! So I kept her inside, confining her (and the other dogs) to the
utility room. She chewed a hole in the linoleum. And took the moldings off
the wall corners as high as she could reach. And part of the walls too! But
all this chewing included swallowing. And she would get the worst tummy
troubles. After a few weeks of being unable to get all this figured out (I
mean, this was WAY more than just normal puppy chewing) I started looking
for help. First it was a good de-worming. She had mega-monster-sized
tapeworms. And lots of them. The vet and I de-wormed her three times before
we finally got rid of them. We think the chewing/eating everything in sight
was because she was seriously undernourished because of the worms. But by
now, it was habit. A big, bad, awful habit. So I kept looking for help. 

And help came from the Internet. I started reading about bassets, and came
across The Daily Drool, Nancy's website about her basset hound, and the mail
list she'd started for other basset owners to communicate and discuss their
hounds. It was there that I learned that bassets aren't really dogs. Well,
not dogs of the typical kind, anyway. I learned about dogs with separation
anxiety problems, and about crate training, and about bloat. And so very,
very much more. Like the Order of the Evil Basset Empire, which Maggie
certainly qualified for: next to the shadow box on the wall is Maggie's OEBE
membership certificate, with the photo of her giving me the evil eye. And
she meant it too!

So the crate helped - it saved my sanity, and possibly saved this dog's
life. I work close to home, and I'd go home at lunch and let her out, but
she was back in the crate every time I left. She got used to that quickly,
and I had ended the housing damage. But I didn't think about the crate for
trips. It was big, awkward, and inconvenient. When mom and I took a trip - a
week in Idaho for my niece's high school graduation - I couldn't leave
Maggie, because no-one would be able to care for her correctly. So we put a
blanket over the back seat, and strapped Maggie in the car (I hooked her
leash to the seatbelt so she wouldn't climb into the front wanting to be in
my lap.) Maggie howled. And whined. And whimpered. And howled some more,
carrying on for HOURS. Yes, eventually she settled down and fell asleep. But
the next day it started all over again.on and on and on. (And for every trip
after that too, although she did eventually get to the point where she only
carried on for an hour or so.) But that wasn't the biggest problem that
trip. She ate like a horse. Honest - she ate more by herself than my other
two dogs combined. But she was so wound up on the trip, that what went in
didn't come out. Plugged up. Big time. I'd walk her for 30 or 40 minutes,
and nothing would come out. I'd do that four or five times a day, and for
five days nothing came out! Eventually, of course, the dam would burst. But
why, oh why, did it have to happen IN THE CAR??? Mom and I lost a couple
hours of our trip that day bathing Maggie and cleaning the car. Ewww, yuck.
That is one afternoon we will never, ever forget.

Anyway, I could go on and on about Maggie's antics, and all the things she
destroyed as a young dog. But when she was 7 or 8 years old, she finally
mellowed out, and slowed down, and while she still thought she was a 75
pound lap dog, she became less food-aggressive, less anxious, less prone to
causing trouble, and I was able to leave the crate door open when I left for
work. So much had changed for the better. It was like I had a different dog
the second half of her life. And that's the part I'll remember best. Trips
were less trouble, Maggie stayed in good health, we kept her weight down
(under 70, but she WAS a big girl). And until the passing of her pack-mates
Beethoven and Dreamer last year, living with Maggie was sweet. But her last
year wasn't as good. As an "only dog" she reverted to some bad behavior
(chewing, wandering, barking), and seemed lonely and depressed. So I adopted
Leia Round (and later Dexter) for her for companionship, and that was
better. But her health was in rapid decline. She was 13 or 14 now, and the
old body's joints were giving her trouble. And there were new lumps - not
the fatty ones she'd had for a long time, but hard, heavy ones. She was old
now, and the vet and I decided not to even biopsy them. We just managed her
pain, and helped her be comfortable. And happy. She was still very, very
happy, right up to the last. Even on the last afternoon when she couldn't
stand up by herself, her eyes sparkled, her tail thumped the floor
unceasingly, and she smiled at everyone and everything. 

Maggie was a character. Maggie was a clown. Maggie would roll on her back,
all four paws up in the air, and wiggle-wiggle-wiggle until she got someone
to rub her tummy. Maggie would beg soulfully for anything (and everything!)
edible. Her begging was an art form in itself. Maggie was, after all, just a
basset, like any other. Yet to me, she was unlike any other - ever. So long,
my sweet Maggie d'Earest. Thank you for sharing your life with me. You will
never be forgotten. 

Tim - and the "new" Camp White Dog Pack: Leia Round and Dexter Dogstar
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