Those who know me, either in person or as readers on this blog or Facebook, may know about Maggie, my beloved Chow mix whom Greg and I lost in November of 2013. She and I had a lot of adventures in the almost-16 years of her life, especially in my times on the road as a touring musician. We visited every state from our Florida home to the rocky Maine coast, to the wilds of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, to the urban heat of Houston, Texas, and every state within that odd quadrilateral boundary. She was always so enthusiastic and curious, and while she didn't care much for people, she absolutely loved nature.
Her distrust of people probably came from her beginning: she was taken from her mother far, far too early (the vet's estimation of her age suggests that she left the litter at four weeks, exactly half the time puppies should spend being nurtured and taught by their moms). After that, she'd lived in three different homes, where for one reason or another she was unwelcome. God only knows what unintentional (I hope it was unintentional!) abuse/neglect she suffered in that time!
Still only about seven weeks old, she was dumped on me, too shortly after I'd lost another beloved dog (Sasha, the blue Chow). I wasn't sure I wanted to keep the puppy, and refused to even name her. But gradually I began to realize that the poor little thing had been shuttled from pillar to post and it needed to stop with me.
I was still uncertain about a name, but during a conversation about favorite childhood books with my friend Vicki, I mentioned the Maggie Muggins series. Vicki interrupted me, exclaiming, "That's it! That's the puppy's name!"
She was right, of course.
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