Yesterday I said goodbye to the best dog I've ever had.
For 13 years, Maia (MY-UH), my cocker spaniel, has been my constant companion and the dearest, funniest four-legged friend a girl could ask for.
From that October day in 1996 when she came into this world, until the moment yesterday evening when I felt her last heartbeat, she made my life full and rich and colorful in a way that I will never forget. So today, I want to thank God for all the good dogs in our lives. How blessed are we, their humble human companions!
I can't recall a single event since I was 20 that Maia wasn't part of. In 2000, she moved with me from the Chicago suburbs to college in western Maine. Five years later, we moved back to Chicago, then again this spring to our new home north of Dallas, TX. Each time, she has taken life in stride--stopping just long enough to make sure I packed her toys. Maia was along for most of the cross-country road trips I've taken. She also attended many of my college classes as well as graduation.
Maia's life has been full and amazing by any dog's (and most people's) standards. The first time she swam in the ocean was at Rhode Island's Beaver Tail State Park. She watched the tide come in dubiously before chasing the waves in and out, growling. She hiked part of the Appalachian Trail with me and paddled around clear rivers and spring-fed lakes in Maine. She went kayaking, island-hopping and motor-boating in her special doggie life vest.
Some of Maia's adventures were nefarious. She discovered how slippery a slanted roof can be after falling from a third-floor fire escape at an apartment building I once lived in (her only injury: a scraped chin). Maia secretly learned to drink beer at the raucous college parties my rugby-playing neighbors threw on Thursday nights. Fortunately, after the guys snuck her a few mouthfuls, the bubbles made her sneeze. But she developed a taste for PBR that lasted the rest of her life. Maia even attended whole semesters of classes at the request of my professors. They never seemed to mind when she interrupted class discussions by rolling around on the floor and snorting.
Everywhere we went, Maia knew how to get something yummy. When we lived in Maine, she knew every place downtown she was likely to get a dog biscuit. We would run errands on foot so she could saunter into the post office, pharmacy and the bank to troll for treats. For $1.25, Gifford's Ice Cream stand offered her favorite Dog Bone Sundae: a scoop of vanilla with a dog biscuit on top. A dog's life didn't get much better than that!
There wasn't a broken heart Maia couldn't mend or a tough day she couldn't make all right with a few sloppy licks. Of course, there were trade-offs. I had to be okay with gargantuan snoring and sleeping with a squeaky shoe every night. I had to be vigilant when we went to the river or lake, lest she irritate hapless bathers up and down the beach by rolling on their clean towels and poking through their unguarded picnic baskets. Above all, I better lock up the cat's litter box before leaving the house. Otherwise, I was guaranteed to come home and find Maia had removed some of its contents and placed them on the entryway floor. (Her way of telling me she thought I was shitty for going to school, work or wherever that day instead of staying home with her.)
Too cute for her own good, Maia's photogenic poise was irresistible. From the time I began taking pictures, she was my favorite subject. I was her own personal paparazzi and press secretary and she indulged me, if somewhat condescendingly.
There are zillions of other stories and moments I could share about her. She was my dog-child, my person-with-fur, my favorite thing ever. She touched every part of my life and taught me to be a kinder, gentler person. Like all good dogs everywhere, she was sent to me--not so much because she needed taking care of, but because I did. God Bless her.
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