Maisy Moo, Moo Pig, Maisy Grey, Driving Miss Maisy, and just plain "Pig".
(Maisy at 7+ when I got her)
(Maisy this morning, 8 years later)
I do believe dogs have memory, emotion, etc. And I know they deserve to be treated with respect and kindness, as does any animal. With each dog, I learn something new and valuable about myself, and life.
Maisy came to me at about 7 years of age. She was already getting old, graying, and losing a little sight. I had just lost a boxer after 10 years and decided to rescue one for fostership. Well, I failed on two accounts. I wound up adopting, and I adopted two boxers as a pair, not one. Maisy and Harley.
They were a breeding pair, dumped not once but twice by different owners after breeding them according to the records. Once people made their money off of breeding, they dumped them. Old dogs don't fetch the same profits. They were purebreds, but not of the award winning kind. I had contacted the boxer rescue to look out for an adult dog, not a pup, that needed a good home. Soon they called me, and sent pictures. Mostly of the SAME dogs, Harley and Maisy. 8 and 7 years of age, in a kill shelter, time running out. They had been there six months, only fed enough to be kept alive since the chance of adoption was slim. And they came as a pair- could not be separated. On kill day I said gruffly “fine. I will foster them.” I really did not want two strange dogs at once, dirty and in need of attention, not trained and less than perfect looking. And they were old for crying out loud! I just had lost a dog and knew I would not have much time with them.
They were a breeding pair, dumped not once but twice by different owners after breeding them according to the records. Once people made their money off of breeding, they dumped them. Old dogs don't fetch the same profits. They were purebreds, but not of the award winning kind. I had contacted the boxer rescue to look out for an adult dog, not a pup, that needed a good home. Soon they called me, and sent pictures. Mostly of the SAME dogs, Harley and Maisy. 8 and 7 years of age, in a kill shelter, time running out. They had been there six months, only fed enough to be kept alive since the chance of adoption was slim. And they came as a pair- could not be separated. On kill day I said gruffly “fine. I will foster them.” I really did not want two strange dogs at once, dirty and in need of attention, not trained and less than perfect looking. And they were old for crying out loud! I just had lost a dog and knew I would not have much time with them.
The rescue members brought them to the house after checking me out to make sure I would be a good foster mom. It was years ago and I still remember when they opened up the back of the truck hatch and Harley just stuck his head out proudly. He was dirty, skinny and had been badly injured but was not afraid. He hopped right out as if to say “So, this is the new place where I will be staying now”.
Maisy was a bit frightened. Always more skiddish. They were mother and father, husband and wife, and sometimes I think brother/sister but I try not to think too much about that. They were so dusty when I touched them- puffs of dust would come up. Pigpen style, for my readers that go back that far. They liked to sleep in the dirt and I am pretty sure they were always kept outside. Maisy had been "over breed" which I came to learn meant a puppy-making-machine so she had very large titties hanging. But no recent pups. My vet actually asked if I wanted to have them reduced. OMG. She is sexy just the way she is - big chested. Some friends have joked they wish their breasts were as big as Maisy's breasts. Jealousy will always be around people. Get used to it.
I cleaned them up and of course, they were fixed by the rescue group. Harley had been attacked by a pit pull at the shelter that climbed the wall. He was tore up on his lips and down his neck to his shoulder. The shelter was so taken with Harley (or guilt filled from the incident ) that they paid to have him repaired instead of put down). Maisy did not have a mark on her so I humored myself and others with the story of how Harley defended Maisy’s honor since they shared the kennel. Harley was a handsome and proud man dog. He also had a very large penis. You try not to notice but Harley was pretty well hung. Occasionally someone would notice and have the guts to say something. My favorite line ever, they were both laying together on the couch, Maisy's titties flopping out and Harley's wang just resting across his leg and my good friend said "your dogs look like a porn couple". True.
Boxers have a shorter life span. 8-10 years is average. As said, I lost one at 10 and just did not want two old dogs, on their last legs, that would need a lot of vet care. That is what I thought. Harley was 15.5 when he died and I put him down then. He had thyroid cancer and was losing weight, etc. I wanted my handsome man to go out on top. And he did. At my home, with the vet and me loving on him while he went to sleep. I thought Maisy would be right behind him, on her deathbed at 14, the main man of her life gone. I was wrong again. She still had spunk left in her.
I have never had the pleasure of having two dogs that loved each other so much. If I took one to the vet without the other (like gone 2 hours), when I got home, oh the sweet reunion. They would cry for each other, jump and wiggle, and rub all over each other. Harley would prance. Ask anyone that knew him. He had the gait of a racehorse. They took over my couch together, after a series of attempts to stop them.
So now I have Maisy, all grey in the face, losing her eyesight, hearing, teeth and such. But not her stamina for running away. God love her. When we walk, she is always last. Like the old grey mare, or the cow the old wagons would drag slowly behind them with a tattered rope. BUT….leave her alone for 5 minutes uncaged and she can dismantle the fence gate and race up the road, as if arthritis can just come and go. Blind in one eye, limited sight in the other, going deaf, overweight, and arthritis. And runs like a freaking gazelle. If I catch a glimpse of her escaping, I try to catch her but never can. In that one instant, she is young again. Free. Showing off her only bad habit. Her superiority over me. And I just smile because the old girl has LIFE left in her and she still enjoys breaking my stuff down, going on a wild neighborhood romp, rolling in the sweet dung of unknown wild animals, and returning when she damn well feels like it with eyes wide from the fun she has had once again. It honestly does MY HEART good.
A close friend of mine turned me on to the beauty of older dogs- in particular Maisy. Sometimes I lack patience but I am doing better and better with that. I got her a doggie ramp for the truck, and a canvas cover for the back seat so she cannot fall if I hit the brakes. I am more gentle with her. Slow walks are ok now (we used to run) and I give her glucosomine with chrondroitin for her joints. I love on her a lot. She really has such a sweet soft face. I see older dogs with different eyes now. I see more of their beauty – aged beauty. I have learned to show more honor and respect.
I kiss her often now, and let her kiss me too. I pat her rump and tell her she can stay as long as she likes. She is 15 now. We had some cancer tumors removed a year ago. Vet said she had a least a couple of good years in her so we took care of that. She walks almost daily and rides the golf cart while others run because she cries if I leave her- it breaks my heart. I bought a dog buggy to push her on long walks/runs too (pics on blog archives and youtube channel for Ifdogstalked). We get stared at, because of our sheer beauty I am sure. Maisy sleeps more, but still loves to eat like a pig. She grunts too. Only dog I have ever seen or heard that grunts all the time (youtube has Maisy grunting). She grunts LOUD when she is walking, sniffing, sleeping, etc. Sounds like a pig. She will grunt when I talk to her. Grunt for treats. On day two of getting her I was scrambling eggs in the kitchen. The two new boxers that I barely knew anything about (and very skinny from being underfed) came into the kitchen to observe. Then behind me I heard oink, oink. Grunt grunt. I was afraid to turn around. It kinda sounded like a throaty growl. I thought I was about to be attacked by two hungry dogs. But she was just asking for a treat, the only way she knew how.
Now she has rounded out nicely and eats the best of food. The vet says she looks better with a little extra weight on her (naturally a big boned gal). Her water gets ice cubes in the warmer months. And she is getting grey all in her coat and sometimes acts like she would rather not walk, her choice. On those days, we ride the cart instead. And what about me? I have realized those two dogs brought an amazing amount of love in my life when I was single, sick, and alone (no other dogs at that time). That they showed up with no expectations, just to live out their time with me (after two months I adopted them permanently- no one wanted them, for the same dumb reasons I had- and I was dumb).
I learned true love does exist- when I saw them reunite and spend their days together. I learned life goes on; it is for the living. When it is your time to go, try to do it with dignity. We owe that to people and animals. I have learned some creatures exceed your expectations. Be open-minded. I have learned that even skinny, dirty, injured and in a strange place, you can still hold your head high. I have learned to ask for what you want and need as mind readers are rare. Just grunt. And I have learned animals, like people, deserve much more love, respect, patience, kindness, and attention than we give them. They are not to be discarded. Their softness over time makes them wise with their controlled actions/understanding, and they have all the more time to give love. Amazing love. RIP Handsome Harley- thoughts of your antics and actions continue to amaze me. Maisy has some time left with me before we send her to accompany you again. You’re my kids. Always.
