“I want to be the man my dog thinks I am” – Anonymous
I’m not sure how much more I can take. My “Coyotahoula”, Maggie, laid by my side as she breathed her last this morning. She wasn’t feeling well this weekend. She didn’t even come when the microwave beeper went off Saturday, so I knew she was under the weather. She spent Sunday evening curled up next to me at my desk. I thought I’d best take her to the veterinarian on Monday, but she couldn’t wait. She came by my side as I drank my morning coffee and never left. I knew. I laid down on the floor next to her and loved on her as she slowly passed on.

I’ve spent most of the day sad and exhausted. I buried her in the garden near her favorite spot. It probably violates some city code but quite frankly, I don’t care. This is where she belongs. If you’re not a dog person this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal – hey, it’s just a dog – but if you are you know the deep sense of loss that comes with losing your best friend.
We have two other dogs, Jameson (the Opal’s Farm dog!) and Sadie. They know Maggie’s gone. Sadie didn’t even bark at the lawn mower as I rolled it to the front yard. Maggie wasn’t there to bark with her. Some say we anthropomorphize our dogs. Animals are somehow absent human feelings. I’ve watched them all day and seen their sadness and grief and it’s as real as mine. I’m sure that there’s a reason “dog” is “God” spelled backwards.

All our dogs are rescues. Maggie was not even weaned when the previous owners took her mother and siblings to the shelter. We managed to rescue Maggie from the pound. Maggie was half coyote and half Catahoula. Her fate was in doubt at the shelter as a hybrid canine. We bottle fed her until she could do solid food. In fact, that’s how she got her name. She would suck on the bottle like Maggie on The Simpsons – the rest is history.

Maggie made it quite clear that she was my dog. She was always quite the “daddy’s girl” and intensely jealous of the other two receiving any of my attention without first loving on her. She could sense a peanut jar opening from three rooms away and knew the I would always save a bite for her.
I could go on and on about Maggie. Pet parents know what I mean. I’m embarrassed to admit that I have as many, if not more, pictures of Maggie than I do my grandkids. Maggie, Jameson, and Sadie became our kids. Dogs are family and spoiled family members at that!
Maggie’s passing brought up all the loss of the last year-and-a-half, especially when it comes to my son Jeremy. He used to tease me all the time about how he was going to steal Maggie. He constantly tried to get me to let him have her. I’m not surprised. Maggie and Jeremy had a lot in common.
In fact, Maggie was my “Jeremy”. She had the same streak of wildness and freedom that Jeremy had ever since he was a baby. She was often too smart for her own good just as he was. She was independent, stubborn, and as sweet as he was. I think she made his passing a bit more tolerable. She always reminded me of him. I’d like to think they’re running around together today…
Today I lost my dog. It’s another reminder of the continual losses since this pandemic began – even when COVID isn’t responsible. I’ve lost my son, my best friend, and other folks that I miss daily. I guess Maggie brought it all to a head. Grief is a bitch…
I’m sorry, Greg. (Do you ever go by ‘Greg’?) It’s tough that we get so attached to our pets and then they don’t live as long as we do. Maggie sounds like a very sweet family member. 🐕
LikeLike
I actually go by Greg. Ms. Opal calls me Joel. I’ll pretty much answer to anything…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mud?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, even Mud. That seemed to be a name my mother used a lot…
LikeLike
Sorry for your losses. Words never suffice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know how you feel.
I buried our cats in the flower garden. It truly is like losing a child.
LikeLike
I’m sorry for your loss my friend. Thank you for being in my inbox regularly. I appreciate you.
LikeLike