She was wild.
She was woolly.
She was lightning fast, inquisitive, insatiable, determined, independent, courageous, challenging. Adorable!
She was Maggie D'Oodles, our Welsh/Wire Fox Terrier puppy. And she came to us one week early.
A week may be inconsequential to most, but Maggie caught us unprepared. Caught me unprepared. My husband was all for it. He jumped at the breeder’s offer to go ahead and take her home. I was still trying to wrap my mind around all that owning a puppy entailed and what energies would be required of me. We had no doggie bed, no food, no carrier, no toys to entertain her with.
But we now had Maggie. And two cats. Big, fluffy, jackrabbit-fast cats that hissed, and spit, and ran, and thumped her snout every time she cornered them. There were also defenseless grandbabies, and bunnies, and squirrels, and fish in the pond, and . . .
Thus, our adventures began.
Progress was rough and slug slow that first year. Puppyhood trials and jockeying for ‘alpha dog’ ramped up to an all-time high. Despite two rounds of dog obedience and multiple Dog Whisperer episodes, she remained feisty, obstinate, and obsessed with everything off limits. I was flustered, worn, and contemplating murder—clearly the underdog in our relationship. Had it not been for the advocacy of our trainers, I would have shipped her back to her motherland.
But over time, our wild little Maggie matured and mellowed, and I simmered down. She and I negotiated a treaty and our tranquil couch potato eventually emerged.
Fourteen years have passed and we recently had to say our goodbyes. She will be greatly missed. But her memory lives on through the Maggie Tales I tell.
