I turned 40 this year, after a decade marked
by one momentous life change after another: long-distance move, house
purchase, marriage, motherhood, transition away from full-time career, and all the accompanying shifts in
identity. Through it all, there was one constant: Maisie, my ever-present
and beloved golden retriever.
This was the year I lost my loyal companion.
We said goodbye on the 16th of August. Cancer took her, too soon and
too swiftly. We knew something was amiss with her health starting last fall, when she was diagnosed with kidney disease that turned out not to be. She got an all-clear and seemed to be doing well again, until suddenly she wasn't. A biopsy confirmed cancer of the anal gland at the beginning of April. It was too far advanced for surgery. The prognosis was 4-6 months with steroids to manage the symptoms. We got 4.5 months, enough to come to terms with the news and give Maisie lots of love and a summer full of her favorite activities. For that time, I am grateful.
She was one-of-a-kind, my Maisie-Roo.
She arrived in my life from a shelter in West Virginia, by way of a rescue group called Homeward Trails. A van-load of dogs was delivered to Arlington in September 2007. I was waiting to meet her, having agreed to take her home based on a few photos and some correspondence with the adoption coordinator.
I loved her immediately. My housemate had just adopted a young lab two weeks earlier, and we fully expected Maisie and Kenobi to love each other at first sight as well. They did not. But within a day, they were fast friends. Playtime was nonstop rambunctious in our small apartment.
She settled right into my life. The vet told me she was between 6 and 8 months old - I never knew exactly. I took her to dog school, where she was eager to please and quick to learn. She mastered the basics and added a high five, an enthusiastic roll-over, and a crowd-pleasing hoop-jump to her repertoire.
She was also a master at making herself cozy.
She and Kenobi continued to be inseparable.
I was a devoted dog-owner and she was a constant companion. Every morning started with a walk. I dashed home from work at lunchtime to take her outside. When I got home in the evenings, we'd go on a wander along the many trails that wove through our neighborhood in Reston. On weekends, we always made time for a longer walk or hike. Here we are at Great Falls Park, a nearby destination.
And then we made our big move. My job came with me, and Maisie had her place in the car amidst the houseplants and other precious possessions.
Off we went to Michigan.
She easily took to my native habitat, loving a yard to call her own and all the surrounding outdoors to explore. With a little more space, it didn't take her long to discover one of the great loves of her life:
frisbee. Promptly at noon each day, she'd rouse me from my office for a lunch-break session of fetch-the-flying-disc.
She made a friend on our block, and she and Powell enjoyed many great romping and wrestling sessions in the backyard.
She was not a dog's dog, in general. With maturity, she grew into a
full-blown case of fear-aggression with dogs she didn't know.
Despite my efforts and those of several trainers, we couldn't crack the
code. So seeing her play well with her friends made me extremely happy.
The rest of the time, we made do. It meant she had to be on a leash almost always, even in the wilds, and it meant that I was never entirely at ease on our hikes, always on the lookout for the next unleashed dog to come bounding up.
But in our newly fenced yard, we could stretch out and relax. And that's exactly what Maisie did, with supreme style.
The other place her style reigned supreme was anywhere a frisbee flew through the air. She lived for the thrill of the catch. She could
launch her entire body out of the water in pursuit of a flying disc.
She careened through our yard, leaping and twisting in mid-air before snagging the rim by a tooth. After a catch, she'd shake the frisbee fiercely or drop it and throw herself down on top for a good roll. If she missed a catch, she'd pounce on the disc, riding it with her front paws in long swaths across the ground. Then she'd use one front paw to taco it up so that she could clamp it in her teeth. Our grass took a beating, and so did my ears as her joyful barks rang out with every throw.
She adored Nick from her first encounter, and would spin in circles with delight whenever he arrived at our door. Bella, on the other hand, was understandably cautious and kept her distance. They coexisted by ignoring each other, for the most part. But they did eventually find advantages to joining canine forces. Sometimes they even seemed to enjoy each other's company.
And so we all settled into our new life as a family. And what a life it was! We took up the sport of
skijoring.
Maisie acquired some new
chicken sisters and was delighted, curious but surprisingly gentle.
She was game for anything and joined us for many grand adventures, as well as our everyday walks and lots of hanging out at home.
She was never far away when I was at work in my office. Sometimes she was very close indeed.
Along with Bella, she participated in our wedding.
And then along came a great change. For the first year or more, Maisie preferred not to be too close to the small person who had taken up residence in our home, uncertain about her purpose or motives particularly when she became mobile. But as Maya grew more stable and capable on her own two feet, and especially
after Bella was gone, they became companions.
On walks, Maya frequently asked to hold Maisie's leash. She often brought Maisie in as a partner in her play. Maya and Maisie went on excursions around the yard together, visiting the imaginary grocery store and ice cream shop regularly. Maya made Maisie cozy beds and covered her with blankets. She doled out treats and shared bites of her meals. When we went to the feed store for dog food, Maya could usually talk me into an extra biscuit, bone, or rawhide from the display near the checkout.
Maisie's last year was a good one, as they all were. There were plenty of hikes, beach visits, sticks, and frisbees to chase.
We expected this would be the shape of our family for the next several years: Mama, Papa, Maya, Maisie, just as Maya instructed us to write on countless lists and drawings, just as we appear in this photo at the Lake Michigan shore right around the new year.
But it was not to be. Maisie's time was quickly drawing to a close.
Her final decline came fast but was mercifully short. We were at Burt Lake with the extended family for what turned out to be her last full week with us. She seemed happy and relatively comfortable. She got to enjoy one of her favorite places and soak up lots of love from everyone.
Just a few days later, it was clear that the end had come. We called the traveling vet, and Maisie was able to spend one
last afternoon at the beach and then pass on peacefully in
our own backyard.
And thus the last remaining link with my life at age 30 is gone. Less than a month after she died, we would have celebrated the tenth anniversary of her adoption. This feels like a monumental loss - the first pet of my adult life. She was my first
baby, the one I brought home all on my own as a single 30-year-old, the one who was my only immediate family for years and who then became an integral part of the larger family we've created since then.
She's now
buried next to Bella under a majestic hemlock tree in one of the most
beautiful places we know.
We buried her favorite battle-scarred
frisbee with her, along with a partly-chewed rawhide that Maya had picked out for her a few days previously - the only rawhide in her life that Maisie didn't have the energy to completely devour in one go.
Is it unwise to give so much of our lives and hearts
to
these four-leggeds whose lifespan is so much shorter than ours? No, I think not. It's surely worth it and then some for all the joy and love they give back. Maisie, I thank you for the thousands of walks you took me on, the frosty mornings and snowy wonderlands and summer sunsets that I might have missed if it weren't for your company. For all the times you got
me up from my desk to race around the backyard at lunchtime. For all the nights you
curled up in the space behind my knees and kept my feet warm. For all the tucked-head, prancing-feet,
full-body-tail-wag greetings you provided upon my return home from
anywhere.
Oh, beautiful golden dog of mine, I hope you are leaping for a frisbee and barking joyfully somewhere in the great beyond right now, loving your next life just as exuberantly and completely as you loved the one I was lucky enough to share with you.
Maisie highlights on the blog
here.
Many more photos of Maisie through the years
in this album.
