Maggie Graves

07/01/2008 - 07/20/2021

Dear Maggie,

No one would have said you were the perfect dog. You were neurotic, scared of everything, destructive. You came to me skinny, with too much energy for one dog, peeing every time someone looked at you. Cowering in corners and chewing furniture. You ate my curtains, table legs, books, power cables. But you were so full of love. You stared at me with your big brown eyes and something in us connected.

You never became the perfect dog. Scared of other dogs to the end, too smart for your own good, could never be boarded or left with anyone else. And I never became the perfect owner. But we grew and learned together.

You were there when Dominic and Amelie came home from the hospital. When I left an abusive relationship. When we walked for hours and hours trying to calm a colicky Dominic. When I waddled down the trails with you at 37 weeks pregnant. When I cried into your fur. When the kids chewed on your ears and pulled at your stubby little tail. When you decided the cats were yours and cleaned and raised them. When you sat beside me through every panic attack. When you leaned your head on my shoulder as I carried you up and down the stairs every day for the last month of your life.

I miss you more than I ever thought possible. I love you so much. You kept me going, kept giving me a reason to get out of bed during the bad times. You would always greet me, wagging your whole back end, and it always made me feel loved. You weren’t the perfect dog, but you were perfect for me.

11 years wasn’t enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t undo everything that was done to you before you came to me. But I hope that those 11 years were as wonderful for you as they were for me.

With love always.

Andrea, Dominic and Amelie