Margaret O’Doggal

Margaret O’Doggal, aka Maggie, was let go today.

We first found Maggie out in Leicester on a road that was part of Lorna’s mail route. She was our first “road rescue” and has been a part of our lives since 1994.

Maggie was a cool lady. She never really played with toys, but she hoarded them. Even Zeus, big mighty King Zeus, wouldn’t go get a ball if it rolled to close to her. She’d not play with it or really even look at it, but she dared him to come get it. What she loved to play with was small rocks and chunks of cardboard. Even then it wasn’t really playing as much as enjoying it.

She never really liked men. I explained this to my step-dad when they come down to visit once. He was sitting in the living room and she was staring at him. “Look, see? She likes me!” Jim said. “No, Jim, she’s telling you that you’re in her seat.”

Maggie has been getting slow from arthritis. It was hard for her to get up and it was to the point we were having to pick her up several times a day. She was getting stuck in dips out in the yard, too. Lorna and I had recently discussed where the line is for Maggie in terms of quality of life. So far, Maggie seemed to be mentally fine. She was home, responsive, and still stealing from the trashcan.

I had to run some errands today and came home at around 3ish. I opened the back door to let everyone in and Maggie was one of the first in line. Some dipshit in the neighborhood decided to start target practice which meant big brave Joella was under the desk. She came out at one point and got tangled up in the cords for one of the fish tanks.

After I got all that straightened out, that’s when I saw that Maggie had moved from the blankets and was further out in the living room. She looked like she was trying to get up. Her legs were kicking about but where several inches off the floor vs scraping and scratching to get up. I went over, calmed her down, and saw she was drooling pretty bad. I tried to pick her up and she was both stiff as a board and a sack of wet pasta at the same time. She couldn’t seem to figure out where her feet were and couldn’t walk. I let her lay back down.

I called Lorna (who is up in PA) and we talked about what might be wrong. Stroke. Internal rupture. Spine injury. We decided I’d call and get a vet appt for tomorrow. When I called, they said they actually had one this afternoon. So I took her in.

Maggie loved car rides. She loved sticking her head out the window and sniffing. But today, she never raised her head. At the vet’s office, they came out to carry her in and she never looked around then, either. The vet and I talked about what might be wrong, what they would do to find out, and what the treatment was for each possible scenario. We both knew we were just putting off the inevitable decision. Maggie was 14. She had bowel problems. She could barely walk before this. She was in a lot of pain.

The vet was thinking stroke or spinal injury. Her gums were very pale which meant she was bleeding somewhere. Could be in the brain.

So, I let Maggie go on. I told her to go to Zeus and Max. To find Jake and Bandit. I petted her head while the doc did her thing. Then the doc and I sat on the floor together and talked about Maggie, about her dogs, about the other dogs in our lives. And I got up and came home. Alone.

I will miss Maggie. I will miss her deep bark letting me know it is time to get up (Maggie was an alarm clock even I couldn’t ignore). I will miss her guarding whatever she thinks needs to be guarded (which often didn’t need to be nor wanted to be). I will miss her toothless snarl at Sam and big Sam backing up from it.

Maggie, Casey, and Joella