All Dogs Go to Heaven

As the nation and much of the world mourns the passing of the King of Pop, I am missing a precious furry little friend.

Our little Maggie was put to sleep yesterday. It's amazing how much a creature can become a part of your home and family. Our little cockapoo was brought into our home nine years ago, and could fit in one of our adolescent hands. She was a gift to my siblings and I from our parents; but she grew to love mom the most (and at times, it seemed, the feeling was mutual.) Mags had her flaws, but then again, don't we all? It's funny how people blame a dog, considered to be a far less rational being, when it has off days...and yet as humans, feel entitled to be "off" for any variant reason, be it the weather, or the time of the month.

The thing that rang true for me as I sat at the Oak Grove bus stop, my mom giving me the news over the phone, my tears and snot flowing freely for all my fellow travellers to see, are these words, "Maggie loved you, no matter what. The rest of the world could hate you, but she'd still love."

It's so true. Even if you tormented her or teased her (::cough:: SEAN) she'd lick your hand and come back for more. Attention was her drug, but she was willing to freely share. She was always around; she always had time for you; she wasn't ever too busy with life or other people for a chat, a run, a cuddle. I was a close second favorite to mom, and even after I got married and moved out of my parent's home, she remembered me. Whenever I arrived for a visit, Maggie would bark her usual incessant warning (file under "flaw") and then shake her hind quarters like they were detached when she saw that it was me. If I failed to greet her or acknowledge her, she follow me around, hiney ever in motion, and anxious-hyper like a pre-schooler needing to get to the potty. Once I looked down and greeted her warmly, she would stand and hug my leg (not in the sexually confused way, also file under "flaws", sub-category "not-her-fault" for in nine years the dear was neither studded nor fixed-can you imagine the confusion?) She would hug me and lay her head on me until I made a motion to move.

When Chris and I started seeing each other, he became part of the family very quickly for her (marked by the cessation of barking upon recognition.) He would give her attention and treats which bought her complete affection. However, family member, friend or not, Maggie would always wiggle her body in between Chris and I when we sat on the couch or if we hugged. If we persisted in being close, she would whine and "freak out" until we stopped. We never quite figured this behavior out--was she concerned that he was hurting me? Was she jealous of the closeness and affection? Had my mom trained her to be an annoying, constant chaperon?

One of my favorite memories of Maggie is from just last summer. Chris was going away for five days to be a councilor at Legacy's summer camp. I had to stay behind and work. With a track record of doing exceptionally poorly on my own when Chris is away, we decided to have a game plan this time. I would have a friend come and stay with me: Maggie. I can't say who was more nervous when we let her out of her crate and into the new house we'd been living in for just two months: new surroundings for her, new purchase for us that we wished to protect from dirt and damage that dogs can potentially bring.

But Maggie proved to be the perfect house guest! If ever an animal could possess manners, then she certainly did. We made a bed for her which was her space, and she kept to it and off the furniture. While I was gone, we kept her in the basement with the bulkhead door open so she could also play in the yard. She didn't bark (perhaps temporarily at strangers, but after all, that is part of why she was with me!) she didn't chew, she not once went potty inside. In fact, the darling was so behaved, when I let her out and commanded her to "go potty" she would, on command. It was wonderful.

We walked together first thing in the morning, and as soon as I got home from work. She was there for me to talk to, or watch TV with. No matter where I would go in the house, she would follow quietly, just to be with me. If I went in a room where she wasn't permitted (bedroom, bathroom) she'd wait by the door until I reappeared. This may all sound trivial, or even annoying to some, but to me who needed a friend and affection in my husband's absence, Maggie was just what I needed to make it through the week successfully.

I had human friends over to visit as well, and I remember lounging on the couch one evening with my dear friend Carlene. We chatted and laughed as we love to do, and we could hear Maggie fidgeting in the other room with her makeshift bed. Soon, we watched her drag the bed from the dining room into the living room, plopping it at our feet and laying down. One of the girls!

"Who will stay with me now when Chris goes away?" I choked into the phone as my mom explained that this was the best for Maggie. Some years ago, Maggie developed a growth on her face beneath her right eye. My parents took her to the vet, but the vet wanted to charge astronomical amounts of money to have it biopsied. My parents wanted to skip the biopsy and have it removed. The vet refused without first performing the very high priced biopsy.

So Maggie lived with the growth for years, and other than being somewhat unattractive when her hair was cut short (and she looked like a puppy no matter what age!) it never seemed to bother her. Recently, however, she had started to paw at it; it visibly irritated her and the growth grew.

The vet said that my parents had made the right decision. Apparently, one in three dogs gets these tumors, though not usually in such a visual spot. They live a normal life with the tumor for about nine years, at which point the growth begins the irritate the dog. As the dog paws at it, it releases a histamine, making it grow only larger and more uncomfortable. And bad, sad things start to happen.

Mom said Maggie's last day was a really good one. She stayed with Maggie all day, and they walked and played and ate all day. It really does make it harder to think of how normal and happy she was, except for this one thing. But she has been humanely spared very painful and uncomfortable time during whatever years she had left.

It's also hard to believe that she's gone. I still hear her barking as we pull in the driveway, whining for food. And I will probably expect her hug the next time I visit my parents.