Maggie wakes me up every morning. First, she nudges me with a paw—poke, pause, poke, pause. I groan, pull the covers over my face. She is resolute. Poke, poke, pause. She stretches her long, muscular body next to mine, licks my hand, sniffs the sheet over my face, nibbles my hair. I wave her away. She pants in my ear. Finally, I lower the sheet and open one eye. She thumps her tail and gives me that lopsided dog smile, exposing one long canine tooth on the right side of her mouth. I laugh. She lays her head on my chest and I stroke her head. What a way to start the day.
That’s how it’s been almost every morning since the day I brought her home from the Aiken County Animal Shelter nine years ago this week. She has been my constant companion, my best friend, and in the way of best friends, we know each other so well.
She is a voracious eater but manages to leave that one tiny pill licked clean in the bottom of the bowl. She hates thunder and fireworks and trembles violently at the veterinarian’s office. She loves to ride in the car and walk in the Hitchcock Woods. She’s tolerant of other dogs, cautious with new people, and detests cats and squirrels. She chases rabbits in her dreams.
She sulks when I leave the house, chases her tail in celebration when I come home, and snuggles close when I’m sad. She has nursed me through four major surgeries, countless respiratory infections and colds, unfortunate horse-related accidents, Lyme’s disease, and bad haircuts. We binge-watched 20 seasons of Law & Order: SVU together. That’s a true friend.
Maggie was three-years-old when I brought her home, which makes her 12 today—that’s 69 in dog years. She’s a sturdy little thing, rarely sick, but now the red fur on her muzzle is gray. Her eyes are cloudy with cataracts, and she’s a little deaf. She climbs the stairs slowly, one at a time. She’s growing old, and absent some unexpected tragedy or illness, I’m going to outlive her—that’s just a biological fact.
A lump forms in my throat when I think about it. Silly, really, to fret about the future, and if my pal Maggie could talk, she would tell me to knock it off, enjoy each moment as it comes—our moments—right here, right now. Dogs are wise that way.
When the time does come for Maggie to journey to the Rainbow Bridge, I’ll be deeply, profoundly sad—a small price to pay for a decade of joy and companionship. I will honor her memory by loving another abandoned shelter dog when I’m ready. I take comfort in knowing she will be waiting for me at the Rainbow Bridge when it’s my time to make that journey.
Maybe you’re uncertain about bringing home a shelter dog. Maybe you think you’d like to adopt a senior dog, but you are afraid your time with that dog will be too short. If so, Maggie and I say to you: the only love you’ll ever regret is the love you never gave.
Don’t wait—your new best friend is waiting for you at the County Shelter.
Their lives are in our hands.
— By Joanna Samson, FOTAS Vice-President
By the Numbers
The Aiken County Animal Shelter received 335 strays and surrendered pets during the month of February, bringing the total to 727 animals so far this year, or about 12 per day.
Pets of the Week
PORTER
Mixed breed, male, 3 years old, black with white, 55 pounds – $35
PRINCESS
Domestic Shorthair cat, female, 11 years old, gray tiger Tabby, 12 pounds – $10
