The Lampshade

Once Maggie had gotten healthy enough, we made the decision that most pet owners make and took her to the vet to get her fixed. As cute as they would have been, we really didn't want a bunch of puppies running around the house. While I don't remember dropping her off at the vet for the night or how drowsy she must have been from the drugs, I do remember one very distinct souvenir from Maggie's surgery - the lampshade.

You've all seen it. That pitiful-looking dog walking down the street with a giant hunk of plastic forming that oh-so-flattering cone around its head. You feel bad for it because it must have just had some sort of medical procedure and it looks completely ridiculous, but at the same time you can't help but chuckle a bit. Well, Maggie was no different, looking just as strange as every other dog who has to suffer the same public humiliation. But I must say, other than the fact that her lampshade seemed to get on her nerves here and there, she didn't let it slow her down at all. She just kept on going with her normal Maggie routine. This was great for her, but admitedly came with its own minor irritations for us.

Like most dogs, Maggie's nose ruled her life. But as a beagle, her nose truly seemed to have a mind of its own and she followed it everywhere. When she would go for a walk, Maggie's nose rarely left the ground, and this didn't change after her surgery. As frustrating as it must have been for her, the lampshade still didn't stop her from trying to sniff every inch she could, causing an incredibly irritating scraping sound against the pavement. As she walked through the kitchen, excitedly searching for every crumb of food she could find, the lampshade would whack against chairs, cabinets, the fridge, you name it. It didn't take long before Maggie wasn't the only one who wanted to get rid of her new accessory.

Luckily, within about a week or so, Maggie had healed enough where we didn't have to worry about her chewing out her stitches and we could take off the menacing lampshade. Not only was Maggie glad to have free reign again, but we were glad to have our normal dog back...as well as quieter walks.

The Very Beginning

I was about 8 years old when I started pestering my dad for a dog. I, like so many kids before me, thought my desperate pleading would quickly return results, but soon realized that this method had absolutely no softening effects on my dad's unyielding parenting skills. I sat through lecture after lecture of "Heather, a dog is a lot of responsibility," and "If you want a dog, you have to take care of it," and "Don't forget you're going to have to scoop up poop." Most of the time I mechanically said "I know, I know," nodding my head to humor my father when my mind was actually off daydreaming about running through the yard with my new fluffy friend. I guess my dad knew what he was doing, though, because eventually the message started to sink in that I was actually going to have to take care of a living being. But that didn't scare me off. I wanted a dog and I wanted one bad.

For most of my childhood, I didn't want just any dog, I wanted a golden retriever. I thought they were the coolest dogs ever, and let's face it, it was the '90s - my obsession was probably fueled by movies like "Air Bud" and "Homeward Bound." My dad, however, did not want a dog that big. He also understood something that I didn't...we were planning to adopt a dog from the pound, and the likelihood of goldies winding up there was pretty low. We first went to visit the pound a couple times when I was around 10. We even put our name on the waiting list for golden retrievers. Dad decided to take me back a third time, "just to look," hoping that we might spot something cute that would change my mind off of a goldie. As it turns out, his wish came true...and I realized that sometimes you can find something even better than what you wanted in the first place.

My dad spotted her first. I had walked ahead when my dad called me back to look at a small black and tan beagle. She had a sulking look on her face, and she stood back in the corner of her cage trying to keep as much distance as possible from her overly-energetic pug roommate. I thought she was pretty cute, too, so we asked the staff to tell us a little more about her. Basically, she was on death row. She was brought in as a stray, skin and bones, not in good health, and had clearly just had puppies (but no one knew where the puppies were). If she didn't get adopted within the next few days, they were going to have to put her down. Well that (along with her adorable face) just pulled at our heartstrings, so we had to take her outside to meet her. But when the pound employees opened up her cage, her pug roommate sprinted out and started running like crazy all around the building. The dog we had asked to see, though, she calmly stood there as one of the other workers not occupied with chasing the pug managed to get a leash around her and brought her outside to visit. I soon realized that this little beagle, so different from the golden retriever I had wanted for so long, was now the dog that I had to bring home. The deal was sealed when she put her head on my dad's knee and stared right up at him with a look that said, "Please, please take me home." That was it. We were sold.





Unfortunately, it was not as easy as we had hoped to bring her home. We were going out of town that weekend for my cousin's wedding, and there was another family that had their eye on the dog we had decided to call Maggie. Since they had seen her first and we were going out of town, we were at a pretty big disadvantage. We left that weekend not knowing whether or not we would have a dog to bring home when we got back.

Lucky for us, when we got home at the end of the weekend, we got a call saying the other family decided they didn't want our little Maggie, and she was ours. A representative from the ASPCA came by our house early that week to do an inspection and everything was a go. She was a bit skeptical when she first heard that we would be keeping Maggie in the laundry room while we were away at work/school, but her nerves were eased when she walked in and realized our laundry room was nicer than her kitchen (her words, not mine). Just a few days later, on November 10th 1999, we brought Maggie home.

The first couple nights were rough. Maggie was howling all night and had lots of bad accidents since she was so sick. But Dad was quick to get her to the vet, we got her the meds for her hookworm and other various ailments, and she made a quick turnaround. Just like that, Maggie became a member of the family, and our lives as dogowners had finally begun. Little did we know that her quirky doggie personality would give us so many fantastic stories and memories over the next 12 years.


*Thanks to my dad for reminding me of some of the details that became fuzzy from my 10-year old memory.

For My Dog Maggie

This blog will be different from my others because it will be exclusively dedicated to my dog, Maggie. Sadly, this past summer, Maggie died after living a long and happy doggie life. Any dog owner will say the same thing...we know that are dogs are not equal to humans, but they always hold a special place in our hearts, and we're saddened when they're gone. Those of us that also happen to be writers (or aspiring ones like me), can't help but write about our canines' crazy, silly, and adorable moments. Just take a look at "Marley and Me" or "The Art of Racing in the Rain." After Maggie was gone, my dad had suggested that I write about all the great stories we have about her. I had thought about it, but unfortunately, writer's block has been plaguing me most of the summer. Finally, it seems like the fog is beginning to lift, so I figured what better place to get my creative juices flowing again than to write about my dog?

Now, before I start posting about Maggie stories, I think I owe it to you all to explain the title of this blog. Maggie had many nicknames, but one of the first that she got was Monkey Dog. Being a beagle-mutt, she always got excited around food. There were times, however, when she would get so excited (and admittedly annoying), that she would make this funny noise when she was panting around the table. It's hard to put it to words, but the best way I can think to describe it is that she sounded like...well, a monkey. Before we knew it, the nickname had stuck. So, there you have it. Memoirs of a Monkey Dog. Enjoy!