"Wake up Maggie, I think I've got something to say to you. ..." The famous Rod Stewart song of which I still have not tired and of which I know almost by heart the words. It was about twenty years from the song's release to the dog, but it was likely destiny.
So, one day in early spring of 1993, Dave comes home from work to say "Someone in my office has a dog they can't keep any more. She jumps all over their young child and is just wild. Her name is Duchess. And she is a Lab mix." It was the Lab part that did it. Suckers that we were, we said yes.
Dave did a half day that Friday and brought her home. They arrived disheveled--dog, Dave, and the car. Duchess leaped out and was racing madly about, here and there, all directions at once. Dave said she was a nightmare to drive. She whined, she drooled, she jumped, she climbed, she barked and he managed not to crash. She was 40 pounds of pure muscle and energy. Within 30 seconds of observing her, I knew she was not Duchess. No way, no how, no, no, no. She was--wait for it-- Maggie May! The Smith part got added later as that is not exactly the last name of a Duchess.
Maggie was hyperactive, nervous, had ADD, a mile long tongue to lick humans with, never-ending energy, and plenty of affection for us. Much later, her previous owner told Dave that they also got rid of her because before they had her spayed, she had puppies, but she ate them and that made them hate her. Well, ok. She was a much better match with us. We had plenty of land for her to run and chase rodents, no kids for her to jump on, took her on our trail rides to really let her run, the neighbors had a pond for her to cool off in, and we gave her boundaries that she badly needed.
For ten years she entertained us, amused us, at times exasperated us, never gave up trying to lick us, and had only one emergency vet visit.
Yeah--she was a good dog.
The Statesman 2/98 TMH
2 days ago