Our Good Dog

We took Maggie to the vet on Monday morning at 10.

They were kind to her and to us. There was a big blanket on the floor for her, and the vet got right down there on the floor with her and patted her and talked to her and was very, very nice.

It really was just her going to sleep. As painless as possible under the circumstances. She was able to walk into the office on her own although she was slow and listing badly.

We're okay with the decision, she was in really bad shape on Sunday night and into Monday morning. We got about four hours of sleep, she was crying in her sleep and when she was awake, she was trying to get up. It was awfully hard to see, and awful for her, too.

So instead of trying to tell you all about her all over again, I am grabbing a couple old posts and pasting them in here.

We'll miss her, but we're glad we had her so long.

She was really a good girl.


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I went to pat Maggie on Friday and got a good look in her face. Her eyes are awfully cloudy. It's not a wonder she can get a little lost and confused when she's wandering around the house.

A couple weeks ago she got stuck under the kitchen table and I had to pull chairs out and physically guide her out from under there. She was confused and embarrassed. Fortunately, she's really old and forgets her embarrassment. :)

She's going to be 15 on her next birthday. Best guess is sometime in June.

We've said NO MORE DOGS when she is gone, and although my resolve is strong (hurts too much to lose them) I don't know if we'll be able to stick to it. Because having a dog to love is a good thing, too.

When we got her, she was about six months old. Still a puppy, all clumsy big feet and energetic, bumbling and silly.

Visited the local animal shelter on a Saturday morning and were home by noon with a new dog. Lyssa was three and a half years old, Matt nine and a half. Maggie and Lyssa were the same height when standing face to face, and we had two incidents of the dog nipping her. Both were handled by taking her down to the floor and letting her know who was dominant, and that her behavior wouldn't be tolerated. After the 2nd nip, I planned to take her back to the shelter on Monday. Obviously we didn't want a dog that was going to bite the kids.

The thing was, it wasn't an attack, it was a nip. Just a way for her to see who was the top dog. And after we showed her twice, we didn't have to show her again. So she stayed.

She was a strange dog, really. Not doggish at all. Didn't know how to play, as in chasing a ball or tugging on a sock or rope. She hadn't bonded with people at all. Did not pay attention when we talked to her. Didn't come when we called her. Didn't know how to sit or lie down on command. Unless her first language wasn't English, who knows?

It didn't take long for her to become attached and doglike, though. We took her in after about 18 days to be spayed, and she cried all the way back into the veterinary office as they pulled her by the leash. She was completely devastated that we were leaving her there. Poor baby. And even with the effects of the anesthesia and other drugs, she was ecstatic when we came to get her.

Then, she puked bright yellow stuff all over the house until the medications wore off. Payback.

She never peed in the house, though. She was housebroken. So whoever had her before us at least managed that. We figured out a few things about where she had come from, too.

There were other animals that she had to compete with for food. She would go to eat, and see one of her legs out of the corner of her eye and whip her head around and bite at herself, thinking it was another dog. Or cat. I dunno. So we taught her gradually to relax by taking her food while she was eating. Can't have a dog that will attack you over food, ya know? Now you can take something out of her mouth and she will let you without protest.

When our doorbell or a doorbell on television rang, she started barking like a maniac, but she quit doing it in a couple months, not sure why.

Before we got the sectional sofa, her view of the glass on the sliding door in the back was unobstructed, and when she saw her reflection, she barked in a challenging way, hackles up, stiff-legged.

She'd also been allowed to sleep on a bed, because she stood next to ours and whined, wagging her tail hopefully every time we got into it. We didn't allow her on the bed, and she finally settled on sleeping right next to Eric's side of the bed. She still sleeps there on a big rug, and has her own pillow. She puts her head on it. Sort of cute, really.

We have a theory that she was taken out somewhere by car and kicked out/abandoned. It's just a theory, but every time we've taken her in the car, she has become agitated and sets up this high-pitched keening that makes holes in the glass. It's horrendous. And she will do it up to five hours. That's the longest we've ever taken her on a journey, so heck, who knows, maybe she'd do it for nine or ten hours if we were crazy enough to take her anywhere.

She doesn't go with us anymore. She hurts all over (arthritis) and can't get into the car. If we lift her, it hurts her. And she struggles to get away, too.

So she hangs out here at home. When any member of the family comes home, she gets up from wherever she is and walks to the door, wagging her tail like crazy. She still hollers when Eric comes home (he is GOD to her) and until he's greeted her properly, she won't settle down. It's aggravating and endearing at the same time.

Like the annual portrait of dog butt at Christmas.

More about Maggie

She's really funny at times.

Back in the days when teenage Matt needed to get out of bed and didn't have an alarm clock or a clue, I used to send Maggie to get him. I'd take her to his bedroom door, and encourage her to nose it open. He was always glad to see her (probably a lot happier to see her than he would have been to see me) and she felt very proud when she had accomplished her task because we all made a big deal of her. It turned out to be an easy thing to teach her. After the third or fourth time, all I had to do was tell her, "Go get Matt." and she'd run to his door, tail whipping madly, and just shove it open.

But how do you get her to stop?

Short answer? You don't.

Long answer?

Because of whatever cosmic forces direct us (let's call them CF), we ended up with a dog who is just like we are.

CF decided to give us a dog who stresses and obsesses. A creature of habit. Another person in the house who has to have things a certain way. A family member who worries. Incessantly. At this point, I am inordinately pleased that at least she doesn't hoard clutter.

Now, when she thinks it's time for Matt to get up, she goes to get him. She shoves on his door until it opens. Or, if he remembers to actually close it until it latches, she shoves, gets disgusted when it won't open and snorts as she walks away, only to try again in a few minutes. Over and over. And over.

If Eric isn't home, she worries. She paces the floor. Click click click with the toenails. Back and forth between the bedroom and the living room. Click click click. It makes me insane when I'm trying to nap. I have to put her out of the bedroom and put in my earplugs.

If the whole family isn't home, she worries, too. She just doesn't pace as much. In the afternoons, when three of the four of us are out and about, she sits by the door and whines to go out. Then, she whines to come back in. Then, she whines to go out again. Drives Lyssa insane.

Because she's getting old, we have had some crap incidents. She used to have no problem knowing not to poo on the porch, but for some reason (our theory is just that she's old and decrepit and doesn't want to walk so far) she thinks the bricks are a good place to dump occasionally.

And there are some indoor control issues now, too. It's like she wants to get outside... but doesn't quite make it before dropping a bomb. Or two. So far, the only one I stepped on was small, mostly dry, and I was wearing shoes. Still grossed me out to have to grab a paper towel and pick it up. Eww.

That was a lot easier than what Eric had to go through when he stepped in a big wet one next to the bed. First thing in the morning.

Nice wake up call.
"Good morning, Master. I have left a lovely crap next to the bed for you."

I was glad to escape to work at six AM that day. The smell of dog shit was overpowering.

Maggie obsesses over food. She loves it. Whatever we're having is what she wants. She does get some table scraps, but not until we're done eating. Or until we get around to feeding her.

She gets an aspirin in her meals. She can't take Rimadyl, the go-to arthritis drug for dogs because it's toxic to Labs, and as near as we can tell, she's at least half Lab. Baby aspirin made her barf. So we put Bufferin in her food twice a day.

I can hear those of you who either don't have a dog, or have a normal dog, saying, why don't you just put it on the back of her tongue and massage her throat until she swallows?

Hollow laugh.

Let's just say her will to spit it out and not let us win is much stronger than our desire to stand there and make such a puny and feeble attempt to get her to take a damn pill.

We used to put it in a raw hamburger ball. Made four or five of the same size, and tossed them to her to catch. But she figured it out. And started very carefully chewing up the balls of hamburger, then unceremoniously spitting the aspirin out on the floor. Then it became impossible to get her to eat hamburger at all. Think about it. How many self-respecting dogs do you know that won't eat raw meat? Or cheese. We did the same thing with cheese, but she caught on even faster.

Bitch.

So whatever food we heat up for her to eat gets an aspirin dissolved in it. I don't think it makes her food taste particularly good, but if she wants to eat (and believe me, she does) she will eventually consume the aspirin.

Maggie snorts a lot. If we send her out of the room when we are trying to cook, or because she's simply underfoot, she makes a disgusted sound. And does it several times as she goes to her designated 'dogs OUT' spot.

If she doesn't like being told to move or go outside or be nudged out of the way, she does the whole disgusted snort thing.

She pants. If she's hungry and we're eating, she pants. Like she's just roasting... too hot for words. If the leftovers have not yet been put away and are left out on the top of the stove, she will pace back and forth, panting until the possibility that that food is for HER is past. Panting and obsessing go hand in hand for her. Or paw in paw.

She lies next to Eric's end of the couch and plays a game with him. You know the Snoopy dance cartoons you've seen? Nose in the air, ecstatic unashamed joyous dancing? Well, she does that with her face. She looks up and strrretches her neck at him. And he goes to grab her face and kiss her on the nose and she whips her head around to escape. And then she'll stretch up again. Just asking him to play with her.

She sneezes. When we come home from wherever we've been, she is excited to greet us. And sneezes repeatedly. If she's lying down and suddenly needs to sneeze, she draws her lips waaaay back and looks so funny.
:D

Then, she will sneeze four or five times and bash her nose into the floor with each one. It has to hurt, but she just does it again and again. We can't help laughing. It really is funny.

She no longer wrestles, but she and Eric used to really get into it. She barked and growled and spun in circles. Ran in crazy patterns through the living room, toenails shredding the carpet. (I've mentioned before that we bought this house solely because the carpet was already dirt colored... so the carpet damage doesn't really worry me at all.)

Again, we're waiting until we no longer have a dog to replace furniture and flooring.

She's affectionate. She likes to greet us with exuberance, then walk up and jam her nose between our knees and gently wag her tail while we scritch her and make a big deal out of her. Tell her what a good girl she really is. After that, she usually requires a little nap. Because she's old.

So the older she gets and the more she slows down, the more I keep hoping that we won't have to make a decision to have her euthanized. That one morning we will just wake up and find that she died in her sleep. Not that I want her to go, but I know it's going to happen someday. And it would be an easier thing for me than to have to make that sort of choice for her.

Wow, I said a lot about my dog. I could write another three posts about her, I think, but won't subject you to it.

I bet you can understand why we all love her, though.