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.

Share on Social Networks

If you have problems with high blood pressure, I’d like to encourage you to consider making serious changes to your diet. There might be some people who don’t have any choice but to start taking prescription medications for high blood pressure, but I’d like to tell you that I have completely eliminated my issue by eliminating all sugar and almost all carbohydrates. (A couple of months ago, my blood pressure hit 185/144, which was dangerously high — considered stage 3 hypertension.) By completely changing my eating habits, I’m down 22 pounds and my blood pressure is now in the “ideal” range — without taking any medication. In addition, I sleep better and I have more energy. Getting away from the sugar-laden mess that we generally refer to as “highly processed food” has been a life-changer for me. Now my challenge is to avoid slipping back into old habits — by eating in the dangerous ways that almost everyone in our society has come to see as normal.

When I first heard about this, I thought it must be satire. When I discovered it was real, I was appalled, but I still thought it must be a one-time thing from some nutty activist. But it turns out it’s the latest bit of pandering to a bunch of far-left activists who believe that a man can become a woman if he decides to claim he’s a woman. As everybody knows, men have prostate glands. Women do not. Period. End of story. Men can get prostate cancer. Women cannot. But political activists are so eager to pretend that a man claiming to be a “trans woman” is really a woman that they are insisting that “women” be included in public health messages about the issue. This is nothing but political virtue-signaling. If you’re a man, you know which parts you have. You know that you ought to be screened. Nobody is made any safer by dragging far-left gender ideology into simple medical reality.

Every time someone tries to tighten requirements around the use of absentee ballots, I hear screams from Democrats and others on the political left that such efforts are nothing but “suppression of black voters.” These protests have never made sense to me, especially because it’s never been a secret that absentee ballot fraud goes on all the time in certain areas. (Everybody knew it when I worked in politics.) The people who engage in such fraud are rarely caught — often because the local political establishment approves of the crime — but a Democrat who won a primary election in Clay County, Alabama, last year has pleaded guilty to this sort of cheating. Terry Andrew Heflin was running for a place on the Clay County Commission. He was caught ordering seven absentee ballots in the names of various voters and sending them to his post office box — after which he used the ballots to vote absentee for himself seven time. Did he have other people cast additional fraudulent ballots? We’ll never know. But in a primary in which he was able to win with only 141 votes, it wouldn’t take many fraudulent votes to change the election. The next time you hear “civil rights activists” claim that it’s just “voter suppression” to hurt blacks which is at the root of efforts to stop this fraud, remember Terry Heflin. If you care about fair and honest elections, ballot security and voter identity should matter to you.

A state legislator in Maine has been stripped of the ability to speak in the state Legislature — and her votes are not being counted on legislative issues — all because she made a truthful social media post. Rep. Laurel Libby (R-Auburn, Maine) opposes allowing boys to compete against girls’ teams in school athletics and she’s become known for making an issue of it. On Feb. 17, she posted on Facebook about a recent example that she found outrageous. She posted side-by-side photos of a boy named John who competed last year in a state track event and won fifth place against other boys two years ago — and a photo of the same boy (now called Katie) who won first place in the same event this year against girls. Whether you find this outrageous or not, Libby is clearly being honest and truthful about the objective facts of an issue of public importance. But the state Legislature censured her. Democrats decreed that she could not speak in the House and that her votes would not count on legislation — until she apologized for the outrage of telling the truth. She refused and her constituents have been unrepresented in the state House since then. The people who promote this ideology are out of touch with reality and won’t rest until they force the rest of us to join them in this delusion. But even if you agree with “trans” ideology, you should be appalled at this heavy-handed attack on political speech.

The late Steve Jobs was at the center of our culture’s transition from analog to digital. He co-founded Apple Computer. He led the team that revolutionized personal computing with the first Macintosh. As CEO of Apple, he led the development of the iPhone and later the iPad. You would think the children of such a man would be surrounded by technology. But Jobs and his wife Laureen didn’t let their children use iPads. Their home had few screens of any kind. Even though Jobs spent most of his time developing and selling Macs and iPhones and iPads, he was home with his wife and children for dinner when he was in town. The family ate together at a simple wooden table in their kitchen — and there were no digital devices or focus on popular culture. Instead, he’s said to have guided his family toward deep discussions of art, philosophy and education — with no iPads to be found. If the man who guided the development of such products chose a different path for his own children, does that suggest that his digital experience taught him that children need human connection, not screens? And does it suggest the possibility that we might be better off if we made the same choice for our families?

Related Posts