Reflections on a little black lab: 

Her name is Maggie, and I knew that, the first time I held her.  She was just two weeks old, a fat little orb with slits for eyes and legs not long enough to propel her toward me.  She tumbled around with her litter mates, all of them crying that newly-born cry which is half fear and half excitement.  She rolled toward me, quicker than the others, and I scooped her up in one hand, at the same time saying, "Hello, Maggie!"  Her tiny body fit in my palm.  I held her to my chest.  And so it was.  I visited her on Fridays, every week. I would say, "Where's Maggie?" As she grew, she would stumble on fat legs, trot a little, then muscle her way through or over her siblings, at the sound of my voice.

She was to be a surprise, a gift to my husband, although we were not yet married at that time.  I brought her home when she was just eight weeks old.  Maggie fit in Nolan's hand perfectly now; she was too big to fit nicely in just one of mine.  He carried her around like that for days, like I had, in one hand, close to his chest.  I kept saying, "You have to stop doing that!  He won't hurt her, you just have to let them work it out." My old dog Astro had trained his share of puppies and he was not impressed by the arrival of her royal highness, but she loved him.  Astro would never admit it, but she wore him down.  He wanted everyone to believe he merely tolerated her, but to be truthful, he fell in love with Maggie just like the rest of us.  He played again.  She made him young again, and tested his patience again.  There were times when we thought, "oh no, she's dead", thinking surely he would chomp her head. He never did.  Instead he just took her toys and laid on them.  Put a paw on her head, as if to say, "Shut up now, or I will kill you".  He would gather her toys in a pile, allow her to be obnoxious for just-so-long, and then lay on them.  Game over. 

When it was time for Astro to pass on, Maggie grieved.  She quit eating, she wouldn't sleep.  She looked for him constantly.  It was difficult to watch.  But of course, she was only four.  And he was thirteen.  I took her everywhere with me, because I couldn't stand the way she cried and searched, every time I came home.  Because of course, I had taken him away.  Why didn't I bring him back home? 

Sooner than I thought it would happen, a new dog came into our lives.  Enter JAX!  Maggie was then forced to be older, the one to"train in" if you will, the new dog, twice her size but always submissive to her.  I watched, after Astro's passing and Jax's arrival, this little imp of a lab turn into a serious, loving mother hen of a dog, who cared for not just the ridiculous disaster who was Jax, but also the ridiculous disasters who were her Dad and me... the humans in her life.  In retrospect I see how Jax gave her a new purpose, and then how she herded, gathered,  and cared for us all.  Poor baby. 

It is time for us to make the decision no pet owner wants to make.  Maggie Mae has been the coolest dog in some ways, also the silliest.  She is a lab.  She is afraid of water.  She will not go outside no matter how bad she has to GO... if it is raining.  If it is too cold, she will pee on the porch.  She is afraid of the dark.  The dog cannot be dragged into a lake, a kiddie pool, not even a mud puddle.  Unless of course it is her idea, in which case she will roll in the puddle with wild abandon.  Let's not even talk about the other things she occasionally rolls in.  Gross.

Given all that, she has still been an awesome dog.  She had to grow up when she didn't want to... and if any of you know Jax... helloooo... he's who she had to train in.  Bless her heart, she has been, despite her dislike for being hugged and touched, the dog who has laid in my bed, right against me, full contact, when I've had a couple of different surgeries.  She's been the good girl who will not leave my side, or Nolan's side, when one of us are hurt or sick.  She can be such a lummox when she is seeking attention, but on the other hand, so careful and tender when she knows her humans are hurting.  And has, time and time again, laid close and allowed hugging, with great patience, even though in her younger years this was simply torture for her.  As she gets older she chooses to cuddle up now and then, but not often, and not for long. 

It is with great sorrow that my husband and I speak about the end of her life.  She is healthy, physically.  She takes a thyroid pill, it changed her life, she runs like a stocky little greyhound.  But she is losing her mind.  The wonderful neurotic, caretaking dog that she has been for so many years is so quickly leaving us.  It started with something we found funny.  Oh dear, too many people here, and Maggie needs some quiet so she is hiding in the shower.  It didn't seem SO weird then, after all, she has always been quirky, and we have loved her for it.  That was two years ago, probably... and today, if there is any change in her routine, she becomes a trembling, panting, teeth-chattering mess.  It has been a gradual progression and we haven't talked much about it.  But today, we are a long way from that silly little dog who just needs some private time, so she hides in the shower.  We have reached, now, the point where we have medicated her for almost a year.  We've changed her medication.  The vet (who I love, and so does she, and so does Jax) said, let's try this, and then this, and then THIS... but understand none of it might work, we might be dealing with dementia.  So then it becomes a quality of life issue.  We are at the second "this" which isn't working.

I've experienced human relatives who, toward the end of their lives, didn't recognize me.  It was creepy, horrible.  And this is where we are with Maggie.  At times she does not know who I am or who Nolan is.  It is the most horrible feeling, to chase her and have to catch her, knowing she is absolutely terrified of us.  I don't want this life for her.  We haven't decided yet but I think it's maybe time.  We keep saying, "Let's give it a week",  as if a week will cure her.  She has good days. 

I can't help but think of a time in my life when I was saying, "But today was a good day, so, maybe..."  And how, as a therapist, I would say to my clients, if you are measuring your happiness by "good days" versus "bad days", and the bad days are winning, then, you need to get out of this situation.  When I was telling myself, "but we had a few good days, so, see how this is a good thing?", I realize now it was such a ridiculous bunch of backward logic.  And I fear that out of selfishness, we might be keeping a dog alive who is suffering.  Wait.  I know we are. 

Princess Mary Margaret Magdalena Moon Pie... with your soft, soft puppy hair which you never lost, with your deep black seal eyes, your funny way of "talking" to people, your silly acrobatics, the way you flail into a person you think is pretty cool, the way you become five hundred pounds past your reasonable sixty five when you get on the big bed and don't want to get off ... the way you were so proud, those many years ago when we took down the deer fence around the garden and you brought me three or four dead corn stalks every day, the way you so proudly cleaned our woods of  old toys, foil balloons, dead squirrels, and also pieces of dead things I could no longer recognize, but that were definitely dead and slimy... the way you sit so proudly and "shake" ... you are a wonderful, cool, fantastic good girl.   Ten years with you is not enough.  And another month is too long. 

I won't say goodbye to you tomorrow.  But soon.  And then I will simply say, "Good night, my silly girl girl, I love you so much"  Like I have said to you every night of the almost 11 years of your life.  Good night, Maggie.