On January 3, 2000 I set out to find an orange cat for my mom. Her previous cat, Abby, a light gray tabby, died at age 16, a few months prior. She was two years older than me. I was only 14, not old enough to drive. So, I asked my friend Jaime to take me to the East Greenbush Pet Center, which was a few miles from our house. As we walked in the door, there was a small dog pen on the floor with four very cute puppies. There were two dark brown pups and two yellow ones.
In my opinion, a yellow puppy is the closest thing to an orange cat.
….
As a little girl I always wanted a dog, and I often tried to convince my parents that we should get one. My mom frequently ordered from the JCPenny’s catalog, and my dad always had an L.L. Bean catalog lying around. I don’t know if you ever noticed, but in almost every catalog there is a picture-perfect Golden Retriever. In a more stylish approach to convince my parents to get me a dog, I would cut out the picture-perfect Golden Retrievers, paste them all together and tape them to the fridge with a message saying something like, “Can we get one?” My parent’s favorite response was “dogs are too much responsibility,” and like all the other kittens, rabbits, chickens, gerbils, and hamsters that I often brought home, my parents usually ended up taking care of them.
My heart melted as soon as I spotted this tiny, chubby yellow lab mutt. It was right after Christmas, and I had $100 bucks home in my piggy bank…just the price for my very first dog. So, Jaime lent me $100 and charged it to her credit card. At just 8 weeks old, Maggie had a new home.
….
When we got home we bathed her and put a big pink bow around her neck to match her new pink collar and leash. I can still remember the look on my mother’s face when she saw Maggie wrapped in a fleece blanket sitting in our old cats straw basket. We were standing at the top of the stairs. The hall light was shinning bright, and mom didn’t believe me when I said she was mine. She simply uttered, “You better wait till your father comes home.”
When he got home from work we were standing in the kitchen…and I don’t really remember him saying much of anything. She soon became my father’s dog. I think it was because I insisted that since I had bought her a new collar, leash, chew toys, dog bowls, and treats that we had to keep her, or maybe it was because she was the only woman in the house who never talked back to him. That was the end of that.
R.I.P. Mags
November 2000 – August 20, 2007
You weren’t for a second….unloved.
Mags and her Christmas present
Mags and Taco, “orange friends”
Maggie at the Cape
