This is my first writing about Maggie, our sweet dog who came to us in 2001- just after 9/11. Maggie was my first dog as an adult. Our family had dogs my whole life for the most part, and though I adored them, I think I considered them siblings. They were mine, but they belonged to others equally. With Maggie, there was an immediate sense of connection, of belonging. I wouldn't know the depths of that connection until a few months after I lost her to cancer.
She and I met online (she under her rescue name: Autumn) and though she looked like a terrified, bony mess I fell in deep dog love with her. Who can explain the subtle connections that form between those who love-especially when they are members of different species? I surely was not the most attractive candidate out there in adoption land- however, I think I may have been the only one eyeing this mange ridden scaredy-dog and thinking what a catch she was. She had been an owner release- she and her brother were brought in and her brother was so aggressive he was deemed unadoptable and euthanized. Maggie came in starving with a choke chain collar grown into the skin around her neck. The story was that she was severely neglected, had never been in a house, and was probably protected from abuse by her brother. It was pretty horrible to hear her history. Oh, but her eyes- I felt her in my belly and in my chest when I looked at her picture on the website. I knew her.
After we'd exchanged a few emails, we made arrangements to meet at a nearby PetSmart, and after only a half an hour, we decided to make our relationship permanent (I, of course, knew it would go that way- but Chris at the time thought it was just a first meeting). We bought her a green collar, some dry dog food and then, we brought her home. The first night I spent with her she fearfully shook the twin bed we had in our tiny spare bedroom all through the night. I think I had one or two moments of doubt that first night as I realized that this maybe wasn't everything I thought it would be. She smelled really bad, couldn't accept any of the comforting I was prepared to give and thought our cats were monsters looming in the darkness. She peed when Chris or I raised our voices to one another - and we were doing lots of that in that first part of our marriage- and she seemed so anxious that I didn't know how to help her. People came over and met her and said "Oh. Are you sure she's ok?" and the most painful to hear: "This isn't shy, this is post traumatic stress disorder."
Slowly, though, she began to realize we were not going hurt her and a tiny space inside her opened up. I could see it in her eyes and her walk. We were relieved. So was she I think.
There were some medical issues- apparently, the surgeon at Animal Control in Trenton had performed her spay and left surgical material inside her pelvis. This was not realized until we had erroneously treated her for sarcoptic mange 4 times (which involves the dog being "dipped" in some horribly smelling sulphur concoction in an effort to kill these microscopic bugs). One night her belly incision simply split open and she found herself once again undergoing surgery.
When she came back to us after the surgery, we had to start all over with her. I felt her pain so much about being abandoned by us at the clinic the morning she went for the surgery- I could barely work.
Somewhere between October of 2001 and the following spring, Maggie came to life. She was estimated to be about 3 years old at that time. We moved into a great apartment together and she got to hang in the backyard with me while I read books and smoked cigarettes. My sister and I taught her to bark- (quite a sight to see I am sure) which was something she had never ever done since we had brought her home. She realized that a ball was for catching, leashes meant walks, and clementines were for sharing. Ours was the classic story of love conquering fear- and we were so glad to be with one another.
The next few years, Maggie became the den mother to many rescued or foster animals - canine and feline alike. She tolerated psycho puppies, maniac cats, dog-aggressive dogs, and two human houseguests who sang Karaoke on our porch until 2am. Both of them claimed to love her as much as we did. Maggie became all heart. She loved and was loved. She was in such deep relationship with me that I would merely think of something like a walk, and she would know. She came on trips with us, she was on my bed with me as I gave birth to my first child in 2004 and my second in 2006.
And so- you must have guessed that this part of the story was coming- in fall of 2008, Maggie had developed a limp. She was probably about 10 at the time but very young at heart. Because of her limp, we kept her home from the yearly Blessing of the Animals that was held at the park across the street from our house. (This would irrationally torture me for a long while.) Two weeks later she was diagnosed with a horrible cancer that took over her whole body. Two weeks after that, after a night in which she (and I alongside her) paced the house and cried because the pain pills weren't staving off the pain as we had been promised they would, we decided that we needed to euthanize her. We brought the kids with us to the vet's office, but the vets would only allowed Jackson to stay (mostly because he calmly refused to leave me).
I felt her leave her body following the injections and I wept.
Jackson watched everything and he said he felt it too.
Charlotte, months later, came to me spontaneously one morning with giant tears and said "I never said goodbye to Maggie". She was right- she hadn't. In our heartbreak, we hadn't considered her reaction fully- otherwise I would have insisted she stay. So we cried and held eachother for many days, until we one day just said it together"Goodbye Maggie" and we cried some more together. Then Charlotte was done with that part of her experience.
A year later I am just beginning to discover all of the layers in the relationship I shared with my beloved Mags. In this way, Maggie's spirit is still with me- she teaches me still. What I learned is that it is possible to share deep loving with another being. I learned that I can just be still and still be seen. Seen on an emotional and spiritual level- not just seen with someone's eyes. I don't have to turn cartwheels or take care of anybody to get loved. That is what Maggie was trying to teach me from the first night she came home- stop doing, and just be with me. Be with me as I shake, as I fear, as I practice trust. I learned how to do it for her and I thereby learned how to give it to myself. This kind of deep loving was something that had been in short supply in my life- though some might be surprised to know that. With Maggie it didn't matter if I was smart or did something stupid. I could be useless or productive, kind-hearted in my dealings with the world or mean spirited and small minded. Over the years we were together, I lost my way a few times, felt more than scared about my life. She lay at my feet as I struggled with fears about my own health and my total scare about being sick and dying and leaving my kids without me. It was the simplicity of our contract that was so nourishing. I feel like she saw some essence in me- something I never even really saw (or forgot I knew about) in myself. My me-ness. The requirement for our relationship was this: show up, give and receive love (which is much easier when you allow yourself to be seen). In that way she reminded me of my grandmother - who I lost in 1995. She was one of the other beings in my life who truly saw me and who allowed herself to be seen by me. I think I cried as hard about losing her as I did about Maggie. Actually I think it may have all been the same big cry. From the same hole in my heart.
When we were looking for a dog, I looked at probably 600 ads. I am so glad I answered Maggie's. I am grateful for each moment that I get to remember her and feel her presence in my life. I get lots of chances to do that. When there is lightning and rain, when I throw a tennis ball to our newest canine family member and she unabashedly leaps for it, when I feel sun on my face in the fall. I am practicing what she taught me: loving fully, seeing and being seen. I- thankfully, finally- have come to realize that it was she who rescued me, not the other way around.
