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David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

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THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Maggie, the sweet dog who wouldn’t learn to be mean

By David McElroy · June 12, 2011


“Girls like mean dogs, so I’m gonna train her to be mean.”

That was my introduction to the shepherd mix puppy who I would eventually come to know and love. Doug was a troubled teen who lived with a family on my street, and he had gotten a puppy. He was no more ready to take care of an animal than he was to become a brain surgeon. He was irresponsible and callous from a dysfunctional upbringing, but he was trying to turn his life around.

As I stood in the driveway of the house where he lived — playing with this lovable bundle of energy — Doug kept talking. He told me that he was going to get the puppy’s ears pierced soon and start taking her to someplace where there were “fighting dogs,” so he could make her tough and vicious. I knew from talking to my vet that any dog can become mean if you treat it in mean ways. I was very troubled, but there was nothing I could do.

For awhile, my only contact with this puppy was when she would (frequently) get herself wound up in the rope that tied her up in the guy’s back yard. I would hear her whimper sometimes as I walked past and I’d find her completely tied up in knots, unable to move. When I’d tell Doug, he would seem unconcerned.

I can’t remember how long this went on. Doug seemed to lose interest in her. She never got the piercings, because he couldn’t afford them. He seemed disappointed in her, though, because his plan wasn’t working.

“I’m trying to make her a fightin’ dog, but she won’t be mean,” Doug said. “She don’t scare no one.”

More and more, I visited her in the back yard where she stayed tied up. She wasn’t getting much attention and she was getting no training. So I started trying to teach her to walk on a leash and learn basic commands. I didn’t ask Doug. I just did it. I’m not sure he even noticed.

She turned out to be the smartest dog I’ve ever been around. I know that puppies learn more easily, but she seemed to pick things up with amazing speed. I guess she was about 9 months old when I started working with her just a bit. At about the same time, she and I both had something great happen — but it was something terrible for Doug.

I didn’t realize it, but Doug was dealing drugs. I knew he’d had brushes with the law and I knew he had had drug problems himself, but I had no idea he was dealing. When I found out he was in jail — and couldn’t afford to make bail — I worried about what was going to happen to this puppy (who he called Sheba, by the way).

I started taking care of her more and more while he languished in jail. I told the guy who was still in contact with him — the one whose house she still lived behind — that I’d be happy to take her if he needed someone to care for her. The first couple of times, the word came back that he wanted to keep her.

About the third time I asked the message to be passed to Doug that I’d like to take her, I was losing hope that he was going to give her up. But the next time I was in the restaurant where my older neighbor worked, I heard him call out to me from the other side of the room, “Hey, David. Doug said he’s not getting out of jail anytime soon. You can take that dog if you still want it.”

I went straight to the house where she was and cut the rope tying her in the back yard. I left it lying in the grass, because she wasn’t going to need it anymore. Maggie had a new home with me. She was free.

Of all the dogs I’ve had and worked with, she was the most amazing. She learned with lightning speed. She was rough with her play and protective with others who came near me. She seemed like a really tough girl, so I named for for another tough girl — Maggie Thatcher.

She was about as close to a perfect dog as I’ve ever been around. She would let my young nieces roll around with her and get rough with her without ever growling or barking at them. (The picture at the top is Maggie with my older niece, Katherine, nine years ago.) But if I played with her with a shoe, she was vicious and ready to destroy it with a single pounce. Her biggest enemy was the vacuum cleaner. Anytime it was in operation and she was nearby, she pounced on it — literally — trying to bite it as though it was a dangerous enemy.

Until three years ago, she lived a charmed life. She was definitely the “leader of the pack” among the three dogs I had at the time (and had been the leader in the past when there were five of them). She loved rides in the car — and loved to hang her head out of the small slit in the window that I’d open for her, even though she was leashed. (The picture on the right just above was about four years ago.) She enjoyed life more than any dog I’ve been around. Everyone loved her. But one night, everything changed.

When it was time for her to get up and go to where she slept every night, she wouldn’t get up. The look in her eye told me something was wrong. I helped her get on her legs, but she collapsed. She couldn’t stand.

I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the car. It was late at night, so we headed to the emergency animal clinic. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I was convinced she was going to be OK. Up until the day before, she had still been acting like a puppy, despite being 13 years old.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. The clinic’s x-rays showed that her abdomen was full of liquid, presumably blood. Their best guess was that she had internal bleeding of some sort. If it simply came from some kind of injury, she might be fine. If it was from cancer or something similar, she had no chance. I stayed with her all night in the clinic, sitting much of the time in the floor next to the kennel where she had an IV that was pumping fluids into her to make her strong enough for surgery. (The picture you see below was shortly after 5 a.m. that morning. It turned out to be the last photo I ever took of her.)

As soon as it was possible, I called my regular vet and made arrangements for him to meet us at his clinic to do the surgery. I wanted her in the hands of someone I knew and trusted.

As the surgery progressed, I waited and hoped. I honestly believed she was going to be OK, but she never woke up from surgery. My beautiful brown girl had cancerous tumors in several organs that were bleeding. It broke my heart to lose her.

I printed cards to send to the people who had known her, with a few pictures and a message of appreciation and remembrance:

A faithful companion isn’t coming home.

There was once a sweet and beautiful puppy who lived with a young man who wanted to make her into a “mean dog” and teach her to fight. Fate intervened and she came to a better life instead. For 12 years, she was a faithful companion and amazing friend — for all of the people and dogs and cats in her life. She was funny and smart and sweet and brave. Without warning, she fell gravely ill on Feb. 28. She had internal bleeding caused by cancer in several organs. Maggie died a few hours later during surgery. Her absence creates a terrible hole in a family. She is missed and she is loved.

Three years later, she’s still missed and she’s still loved.

Editor’s note: If you enjoyed meeting Maggie, you might enjoy previous posts about Henry,  Lucy, Amelia, Charlotte and Emily.

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On a live awards show Sunday night, one man made a joke about a female celebrity. The husband of the celebrity was offended and hit the man who made the joke. Or maybe it was staged for entertainment. Who knows? Who cares? Social media is full of discussion — and even arguments — about this idiocy today. This baffles me. Let’s assume for a moment that the event happened as reported. People have been having such idiotic fights ever since there have been humans. Half the bars in the world see such brief dustups regularly. It simply doesn’t matter. The fact that so many people believe they need to talk about this — or even need to have opinions about it — is more evidence of the bizarre media brainwashing that convinces many to care passionately about brain-dead trivia. Your life will be happier and saner if you focus on yourself, your family and your friends, not on whatever scripted (or spontaneous) bilge that the media wants to pipe into your home.

I’m in the middle of migrating this website to new servers this week. This means you might encounter some unexpected behavior until I get all the bugs worked out. Clicking on my links (including this one) might cause your browser to give you the message that it’s a site without a current security certificate. It’s not actually unsafe, but there’s something which isn’t yet set up for the security certificate. I apologize for any such errors you might encounter while the process is going on. If you notice any problems with content which didn’t migrate properly, I would appreciate you letting me know the details at davidmcelroy@mac.com. Thanks for your patience.

I often wonder what animals think when they look at us and consider the society we’ve created. Yes, I know this is fanciful and unrealistic, but what if they could? Would they be astounded at how we treat each other? Would they be disgusted by the ugliness and pettiness which fill so many of our daily interactions? The truth is that I’m feeling pretty disgusted with humanity tonight. I made the mistake of reading some online interactions that I should have avoided — and it sickened me. The people involved appeared to be vile and stupid and arrogant. I wish I could pretend they’re a tiny minority, but I know better. It’s times such as this when I most need to escape much of “civilization” and disconnect from their world. If humans are going to be worthy of “ruling this planet,” we have a lot of growth to do. And I fear that growth is nowhere in sight. So my buddy Thomas, above, and all of his friends would be right to judge us harshly — and to think, “Why do you folks get to be in charge?”

I should have expected this, but I honestly didn’t. The article I wrote last week about disagreements over treatment for autistic children brought me angry emails. You could almost call it “hate mail.” Of the five emails about it so far, two have been to tell me that I’m wrong to even listen to critics of the most popular therapy for autistic children — and the other three tell me I’m wrong for not condemning the treatment as the “obvious” abuse it is. If you read the article, you know I didn’t take a position on the issue, because I simply don’t know enough to have an opinion. But by talking about the issue, I stepped into a heated controversy. The emails from the two sides convinced me of nothing. But they did give me even more empathy for the unfortunate parents who have to figure out for themselves where the truth lies for their children.

Have you ever had what you thought was a new idea — and then discovered that “old you” had the same idea years ago? I had that experience tonight. And it’s been wonderful. I came up with an idea tonight for a very short satirical film that would be a promotion for a fictitious college. The point is to make the college promote — as good things — everything which is actually terrible about most modern colleges. Then I remembered a fake college that I invented back when I was in college. I had created student recruitment brochures and various newsletters back then, so I decided to call my “new” college by the same name I’d invented years ago: Ochita College. As I searched my computer for any old material I might still have about Ochita from the past, I discovered an email I sent to someone in 2009 — outlining essentially the same idea which I came up with tonight. Since I didn’t remember writing that, it felt like magic. So my next film project just might be this one instead. If all goes well, you might soon see “Ochita College: Your Future Starts Here.” This should be fun.

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