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Beanie Blog #12 July 15, 2022 For the Love of Maggie aka Magpie aka Margarita
Fourteen years ago, not long after my sister died, I saw a photo of a chihuahua/pug mix on Petfinder. This photo, in particular, grabbed me because my sister’s death was still so raw, and she left behind a little Chihuahua when she died. Something tugged at my heart when I first saw Maggie’s photo posted by a rescue in Indiana and I felt compelled to adopt this dog. Was my sister guiding me to the little creature that would heal my heart? I will never know, but within days my husband and I were on our way to Indiana to adopt her. We already had three dogs at home—Abby, Bailey, and Monty—and certainly didn’t need another, but this one would not let me go. When I first met her, she was scared of everyone. We learned that she had a sad story—her owner committed suicide, and she was in the house with the body for days. When the concerned family finally had police enter the home, Maggie tried to protect her owner and would not let anyone into the bedroom where the body was. Animal control was called and forcibly removed her from her home. She cowered in the shelter and would not eat. A local rescue heard her story and pulled her. She remained withdrawn and mourned her previous life. By the time we got there to adopt her, she was eating but VERY wary of strangers—a characteristic that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Initially, she didn’t want to go with us, but once we got in the car to travel home, she was my lap dog. She figured she had no choice and made the best of it. She wouldn’t go near my husband but tolerated me. For the first few days at home, she remained as far away from my husband as possible but became my shadow dog. She went where I went. Thus began our journey together. She would cuddle with me and follow me everywhere I went—through each room of our house, even the bathroom. She bonded quickly with the other resident dogs, and soon we had an inseparable pack. Abby and Bailey were both beagles and bonded early on with me. Monty was a foster return who we decided to keep because the goofy guy was very attached to my husband. Maggie attached herself to Monty as a mentor; they were very close in no time. Maggie learned the house routine from the others, and soon she fit right in with the pack and me. She became my shadow dog, and I was her person. After about two months, she finally decided my husband was okay too and would allow him to pet her and cuddle her. I swear I saw her smiling one night when she looked at us from her bed. I guess she decided we were okay after all. Maggie was a bit wild initially, and we had to work on some bad habits. She liked to tip over the bathroom trash and chew it all to bits. She climbed up on our bed, took a gold earring from my nightstand, and chewed it up. Part of it was missing, and we assumed she swallowed it. The vet said to watch if she passed any blood; if not, we don’t need to worry. That was when people were advertising on TV to send in your gold for cash and my husband, Richard, joked one day that he would send in Maggie for cash. When she passes the gold, they can keep the dog for free. Of course, that never happened, but we joked about it for a long time. Maggie settled down, felt more secure with us, and finally became a happy, playful dog. The chihuahua in her made her run zoomies in the yard, and no other dog could catch her; she was so fast. When she was excited, she would jump straight into the air at least three feet high. She was happy as long as she was with us, but when we had to leave, she had the company of the other dogs and was never alone. But then, as the years passed, our dogs began to leave us one by one. Bailey had throat cancer and died at 14. Abby died of old age at 15 ½, and Monty died from a brain tumor that caused grand mall seizures at age 11. Suddenly Maggie was the lone survivor of the pack. She grieved, especially for Monty, and would search the house for him daily. Richard and I were so heartbroken for her that we allowed her to sleep on the bed with us for the first time so she wouldn’t be alone at night (her bed was next to Monty’s). I remember saying to Richard, “It’s just for a few nights,” but it lasted for years beyond that. Maggie adjusted to being the only dog in the house, but she was even more clingy than usual. We tried taking her with us wherever we went (when possible), and when we went on vacation, my mom (who was in her 80s then and the only other person Maggie ever loved) would take care of Maggie at our house, so we didn’t have to board her. When Maggie was 9, I became a grandmother to a baby girl. Little Thea was a fixture at our house several days a week while her parents attended college and worked. From the first early days, when the baby would lay on the floor on her blanket, Maggie was right there by her side. When Thea learned to walk, Maggie followed her everywhere and became very maternal. When Thea was a toddler and running through the house, Maggie was running right behind her, and they became best buddies. Thea loved Maggie and Maggie loved Thea. Maggie missed her when Thea started school and didn’t come as often. I could tell because she would go into the guest room where Thea’s toy box was, haul out her toys, and lay on them. Seeing how much our dog bonded to that little girl was touching. We decided not to adopt a companion dog for Maggie because we were getting older too and wanted to travel in retirement. A dog is a 15-year (or longer) commitment, so we decided not to adopt another dog. After some time passed, Maggie liked being the only dog in the house and behaved like the Queen-bee. We fostered dogs on and off, and she got along great with all of them, but she was also happy to see them go to their forever homes. That meant she had us all to herself again. As Maggie grew older, she slowed down, and the zoomies were less frequent and not nearly as fast. She still jumped up when excited, but not nearly as high. We had to put an ottoman at the end of our bed so she could jump up on her own since she could no longer jump the height of the bed without that extra help. Sometimes we had to help her up on the couch when she would try to jump up and would miss and fall. We got another ottoman for the living room so she could get on the couch without help too. Every morning, Richard got up early to go to work, and Maggie would get up with him, and he would feed her breakfast. She would go out to go potty, and then the two of them would sit together on the couch, with Maggie half on his lap, until it was time for Richard to leave for work. When he left, Maggie would come back into the bedroom and curl up with me until I got up (Richard got up at 5:30 and left by 7). Then we had our morning routine, and she would snuggle with me on the bed. Once we got up and got going, I would make a cup of tea, sit outside on the porch swing, and watch Maggie romp in the yard. It was my favorite time of the day. In the evening, she was always right between us on the couch, waiting for her evening treat of cheese bites before bedtime. I swear, that dog could tell time because if it got too late and she didn’t have her cheese yet, she would start dancing in front of us to let us know she wanted her cheese, and she wanted it NOW! Anyone who has ever loved a senior dog knows how hard that can be. You watch them begin to struggle to do things they could always do, and it hurts your heart. Then Maggie developed a collapsed trachea—very common in older, small breed dogs—and she began “coughing” or choking. She would pant a lot because her airway was restricted, and she couldn’t cool herself any other way. The vet closely monitored her condition, and we realized that the long goodbye had begun. Maggie also had arthritis badly in her front joints and began to limp from time to time. We got some meds for her, but she didn’t tolerate them very well, so we could only give her small doses. I tried to prepare myself for losing her, but no matter how long you do that, you are never ready to let go when the time comes. She was almost 15 years old (very old for a Chihuahua/Pug mix), but her quality of life was still there, so we hung on as long as possible. She still had her playful moments and loved her dinner and treats. I kept asking God for Maggie to give me a sign when she couldn’t go on, but for many months that sign never came. Each time I thought she was close, she would rebound, and I would heave a sigh of relief. The 4th of July was always a hard holiday for Maggie (and millions of dogs) because she was terrified of the loud explosive noises. Every year we would sit with her and try to calm her, but she was a nervous wreck for days around that holiday. We tried medicating her, but she didn’t tolerate the drug. This past holiday was particularly hard on Maggie. She was nervous even on quiet evenings and couldn’t stop shaking. She was easily spooked at every little sound. I was frantic to calm her because the panic caused her airway to constrict, and she would cough and pant like crazy. She would sit with us and pant and shake; nothing we did would calm her. She would finally calm down once we were in bed and all was quiet at night. A week after the 4th, we both noticed Maggie was not the same. She was dazed and confused and just wasn’t herself. She started refusing treats and needed more help than usual. We had to carry her outside to go potty, and her balance was way off. Her eye started twitching rapidly, and she would stare off into the distance at nothing. My gut was telling me this was it. I braced for what I knew was coming, yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I had this eternal hope that she would rebound like she always did—but not this time. Yesterday, I got the sign I needed. Maggie fell hard when she tried to get up onto the couch. Richard was there and called me into the living room. I could immediately see that Maggie was in distress. She was shaking badly, and her eyes were glazed over. I gave her half of a pain pill, which calmed her a bit. By bedtime, Richard and I had to carry her outside to go potty and lift her onto the bed. We both knew what was coming the following day, but again, I held out hope for a rebound. It was not to be. By morning, we knew we had to make the call. When I called our vet, I could hardly get the words out because that would make it real. I managed to get an appointment for the afternoon. Our vet was aware of Maggie’s condition and had been expecting that call for quite some time. They worked us in as soon as possible, but the wait for several hours was excruciating. Knowing that these were the last hours of her life was killing me, and as I began writing this, she was curled up in her bed beside my desk in the office sleeping soundly. How could I be writing about losing her when she was sleeping beside me? It was a surreal moment, and it gutted me. Even now, as I write the rest of this, her bed is empty, and it’s not real yet. Richard and I have been through this too many times, but this time, with our last one—my shadow companion of 14 years—it was hitting me down to my core. Driving to the vet knowing that she wasn’t coming home with us was agonizing. It was unbearable to see her lying on the table in the exam room after the initial shot to relax her, and her eyes were half open. She was in a deep sleep, and we both hovered near her and said our goodbyes. I kissed her, petted her, rubbed her belly, and talked to her. Her breathing was off, and I knew she was fading. I told her repeatedly how much I loved her and that she was the best dog God ever created. I asked her to forgive me for making the call, and I hope she knew why we had to do it. After the vet gave her the final injection to stop her heart, she just stopped breathing and was gone. Her death was so peaceful, and she was surrounded by those who loved her. If she had to die, it was the best death I could give her. Someone once asked me, after we lost one of our other dogs if the pain of losing them was worth it. Without hesitation, I said yes. Maggie gave us almost 15 years of joy, laughter, love, and companionship, and she filled my heart with so much love for so many years—yes, although I am heartbroken and crying my heart out—Maggie was worth every moment of it. I will take joy in her memories and be forever blessed that God chose me to be her person. With a broken but grateful heart,
Sabina (Beanie) Boston
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