As I pre-wrote yesterday’s post a few days ago, I had no idea the significance that would become attached to eleven o’clock on July 27. Then our dog died at eleven.
I had this post pre-written and archived, too, but I deleted it because now it’s the most fitting tribute I could give to the sweetest, most wonderful dog I have ever known.
We found Maia wandering the streets twelve years ago. We figured she was a year or two at the time, but she could have been as old as five. She cowered in fear at first, but once we opened the car door, she leapt in and wagged her goofy, curly tail. We named her Maia (other family members spell it Maya) after the goddess of spring.
She was also known as Puppy-Wuppy-Doodle, Dingo Doodle, Mooing Puppy, Maia Moose, Moosey-Moo, Mooseley, and even… Mussolini.
She loved everyone. She cuddled her cat brothers and sisters every bit as much as her doggy siblings. Her favorite food was bacon, and no one in the house was allowed to hug without hugging her. Not that we ever wanted to, because Maia hugged back.
Maia never snapped or snarled. She never ate anyone’s expensive shoes or made a mess on the floor. She never chased one of the cats or growled at one of the neighborhood kids when they dropped by with Girl Scout cookies. When I was sick, she slept outside my door and made her sweet, mooing sound to let me know she was there.
My heart is broken now, and I’m crying for the umpteenth time today while writing this, but today’s topic was “happiness is…” And happiness is watching your sweet puppy snuggle her cat. Happiness is when the chihuahua drapes himself over her back to sleep. Happiness is being in an awful mood and having her trot over for a hug at just the right time.
Those are happy moments I can only experience in memory now, but I’ll cherish them forever.
I love you, Maia. You enriched the last twelve years of my life so much. You’ll always be my mooing puppy.