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I got to thinking about Maggie’s many gifts to us throughout her 16 years.  Some were difficult to interpret.

She woke us between 3:00 and 6:00 a.m. every day of our lives, so we would have the pleasure of putting her in the garage.  Even though she had her own door.

She gave an awkward massage that went on for what felt like hours and wasn’t optional.  With a look on her face that made you feel a little dirty.

She enjoyed throwing up in the stroller.  She seemed to believe that if one were to handle a garden snake verrry carefully it would be optimally fresh when released in the kitchen.

Because of our girl, no one had to garden or wash the car by themselves.   She never failed to greet us at the door–on the side with the hinges, but still.   When my husband faced an imminent layoff, she began to bring us voles.  Vole after vole after vole.  She was marvelously patient, even flirtatious, with our newly-adopted baby.  Maggie was 9 when they met; our daughter was 11 months old.

She demonstrated that you could be bold, courageous, dainty and feminine–all at the same time.  She was ferocious with intruders and posed for pictures with one paw turned out like a ballerina.  She had attractive arches.  She once bounded back from a mysterious illness that left her so thin she looked flat.

Maggie knew what she wanted and went to work getting it.  She wasn’t sidetracked by our many helpful suggestions and she mostly achieved her goals unless apprehended in mid-vomit.  She didn’t mind change; she found our new home fascinating and seemed to enjoy an outing in the car.

Now she’s gone and the torch is passed.   Where do I begin?

 

 

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