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Pets and Relationships + Book Release Fun! – August McLaughlin 

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Religious? Spiritual? Philosophical? Metaphysical? Wacky?

I was raised Catholic (yeah, like my Italian family name didn’t give that away…), but I haven’t practiced any organized religion for decades. I think I’m most accurately described as an agnostic. I really, really, really hope there is some loving and benevolent force guiding the universe, but I often fear that there isn’t. Because, for the life of me, I can’t figure out how, if there is a benevolent force, the Holocaust could happen and how Syria, as just one current example, could be such a place of relentless cruelty.

But…and I hope this doesn’t sound glib because it doesn’t feel glib to me…the addition of a new member to our family four years ago gave me an unexpected sense of the possibility of the divine.

Okay, enough pondering of unanswerable questions and the nature of faith for now…

When Tom’s father passed away suddenly, he left behind two dogs, a Labrador and a Chihuahua. It was decided fairly quickly that Tom’s oldest brother and his family would adopt Tess, the Labrador, and Tom and I would adopt Squeaks, the Chihuahua.

Because that’s what responsible, caring people do. Having a pet is a lifetime commitment. Not just your lifetime, their lifetime, too.

Yes, I’m getting on my soapbox.

I volunteer for the cause of animal welfare. I’m a member of a small animal rescue group here in Los Angeles. We are constantly getting phone messages and e-mails from people who are conveying that a family member died and if we don’t take in their dogs/cats, they’re going to bring them to the pound, where — as we know all too well — the poor animals will most likely be euthanized.

Don’t get me started…

A lifetime commitment. Not just yours…theirs…

Tom drove to Fresno to work with his brothers to get their father’s house and other belongings in order, while I stayed home with our senior darlings, Chester and Maggie, the ones you met before in this blog. Tom would be bringing Squeaks back with him.

Squeaks is also a senior. Our three kids are about the same age, fourteen or so now. I was nervous about disrupting our calm and happy equilibrium with Chester and Maggie by bringing another dog into the house. What if they didn’t get along? What if teeth were bared? What if there was growling and fighting?

I really like to avoid conflict. I know that’s not the best quality for a writer to have. I remember being in a creative writing class and hearing the teacher say that all stories, comedies included, must have some conflict, and I thought, “Crap, now you tell me…”

Tom and I decided that we would let the kids meet each other outside, because we had heard or read somewhere that it’s good to introduce dogs to each other on neutral territory. So when Tom pulled into our driveway, I put leashes on Chester and Maggie and we walked out our front door together.

Tom opened the driver’s side door of his car and got out…

Carrying the tiniest dog I had ever seen…

Seriously, I have had cats three and four times bigger than the little guy who got out of the car with Tom.

Tom put Squeaks on the ground. Chester and Maggie approached him. Sniffing ensued, per the rules of canine communication. I was very, very, very nervous that they wouldn’t accept each other. I gave Chester’s and Maggie’s leashes to Tom to hold because he is considerably more relaxed than I am, and I had read that dogs can sense their guardian’s tension through the leash. Or something like that.

So there was Tom and there were the three dogs right next to each other and I was terrified that I would be hearing sounds of dreaded conflict and I would have to start screaming for Tom to separate them before they killed each other. Which is very helpful in a crisis. Someone yelling like a lunatic while not actually doing anything to fix the problem. Yeah.

More sniffing. Some staring. No noise. No problems. Nothing negative.

Welcome to our family, Squeaks.

I honestly can’t begin to convey how proud I am of Chester and Maggie. They are such generous and loving souls. There wasn’t a moment of jealousy from them. It was as though they said to Squeaks, sure, come live with us. Be our brother. There’s enough love to go around.

I love all dogs and indeed all animals, but I don’t know that Chihuahuas would necessarily have been on my Top Ten list of favorite breeds before I met Squeaks.

Well, now that we’ve had Squeaks for four years, I am Chihuahua crazy. Along with being Beagle and Dachshund and Greyhound and Bulldog and Cocker Spaniel and Pug crazy. To name just a few.

Let me pause to say that, of course, “Rescue” is my favorite breed…

Squeaks is a total, clichéd love bug. He is a snuggle bunny. And he is the undisputed leader of the pack here. This was established very early. Maggie has a rather unfortunate habit of bolting down her food and then, if we don’t stop her, barreling over to Chester’s food and pushing him out of the way so she can finish whatever is left in his bowl. Chester, being supremely easygoing, just gives her a perplexed look when she does that and walks away to let her eat his food in peace.

Maggie tried that with Squeaks the first night he was here. She finished her food and headed toward Squeaks. We weren’t paying enough attention, and she got to his food bowl before we could stop her.

Squeaks had his head down and was happily chewing his food. Maggie came over and was about to push him out of the way. Squeaks didn’t bother to raise his head. He just growled. Calmly, at a low, distinct volume.

Maggie stopped in her tracks. She stared at Squeaks. Then she turned around and wandered off. She hasn’t gone anywhere near his bowl while he’s eating ever since.

Chester and Maggie and Squeaks absolutely adore each other. We have two large doggie beds for them in the living room. It is very unusual for them not to squeeze into one of the beds together while the other one remains entirely empty.

Squeaks, by the way, also goes by the names Squeaky Boy, Squeakserdoo, and Sir Squeaks-A-Lot.

Children love Squeaks. He’s like a living toy to them. When we’re out walking with our trio, people marvel at how tiny he is.

Which brings me back to my original point…

Squeaks weighs around four pounds. He clocks in at considerably less mass than my head (I do have a freakishly large head…). And contained in those four pounds of matter — such a tiny amount — there is every emotion possible.

The world must be so large and imposing to him, but Squeaks faces it with love and trust. He is dear and sweet and kind and funny and ebullient, and his emotions and his worldview are, to me, no less meaningful than the emotions I treasure in the people I love and admire.

And, to me, there is something mystical and divine in that…

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We drove to Beagles and Buddies at their new location in Apple Valley.  It’s a big and cheerful place.  Connie, the director of Beagles and Buddies and our friend since we first adopted from them in 2008, was there.  We sat in the sunny courtyard.  There were sofas and comfy chairs and lots of dog beds.  And lots of dogs.

Chester was so funny and cute during our visit.  He didn’t seem to want to interact with any of the dogs.  He just patrolled the periphery of the area, his hound nose to the ground, with a look of tremendous seriousness.

Tom and I just adore Chester.

Driving to Apple Valley on that particular afternoon was more of an excuse to take a lovely trip than an actual mission to bring a dog home with us that day.  Connie had received an application from people who were looking to surrender their dog to the rescue group, and she had a feeling that the dog would be perfect for us.

Connie was absolutely right. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

I have a tendency to do that…

We visited with Connie and the other wonderful people of the Beagles and Buddies team for a bit, and of course we also petted as many of the wonderful rescued dogs there as we could, and we agreed that we would come see Maggie the Lemon Beagle as soon as she was brought to Beagles and Buddies.

I don’t think I had known that there are lemon beagles before we heard of Maggie.  She’s not a tricolor, as you can see.  She’s mostly white with patches of beige.  And like all beagles, regardless of shading, she is absolutely adorable.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

On the way home, we walked around beautiful Big Bear Lake.  People strolling on the shore paused to admire Chester as he toddled along on his jaunty, little legs, and of course it always makes me smile when he is fussed over.   We stopped at a Mexican restaurant near the lake that had an outdoor patio.  A woman and her dachshund puppy were on the patio when we arrived.  Of course I went nuts when I saw the puppy.

“Chester!  Chester, look at the adorable puppy!  He’s a dachshund, and you’re part dachshund, Chester!”

The puppy desperately wanted to play with Chester.  Chester stood, unmoving, and looked quite miserable while the little dog leapt and frolicked around him.  I think our boy was overwhelmed from having spent so much time around so many dogs at Beagles and Buddies.  When we got in the car, Chester immediately fell asleep on my lap and didn’t stir until we got back to our house.

A few weeks later we took the shorter drive to the Beagles and Buddies location in El Monte, where we had originally met Chester and Geneva.  The group was transitioning from their old space to their new space, and Maggie was at the old space, along with several other dogs.

Connie led us to the courtyard outside the house where Maggie was being kept.  Connie opened the door, and this wriggling bundle of fur with her tail wagging non-stop came running outside.

And I have to shout this, because it merits shouting…

SHE WAS SO ADORABLE, I COULD BARELY STAND IT!

One of the first things Maggie did was put her front paws up on Tom’s knee and beg to sit on his lap.  Tom picked her up and cradled her like an infant and she melted and he melted and that was it.  We were now a family of four.  And we didn’t consider changing her name for several reasons:  She was used to being called Maggie, and Maggie is a human name, and one of our favorite people in the world is our friends’ daughter Maggie, so our new pup being named after her seemed perfect.

Chester and Maggie got along right away.  They are both such sweet, agreeable dogs.  No jealousy.  Just lots of affection.

Have I mentioned lately that we absolutely adore them both?

The first week we had Maggie with us, she did two things that absolutely broke my heart.

She is such a cheerful girl. She’s always wagging her tail, and it looks like she’s always smiling. She was like that from the first moment we saw her.  On her first day with us, I took Maggie and Chester on a walk around our neighborhood. Shortly after we started out from our house, Maggie began trying to pull me up one driveway after another so she could get to the front door of the houses we were passing.

I could feel her thinking, “Is my family in there?  Is that where my family is?”

A few days later, we were out walking and we saw our lovely friends who live three houses down from us in their front yard.  At that point, their twin girls were just starting to toddle around.  I walked toward the parents and their daughters to introduce them to our new dog.  As we got closer, Maggie’s personality seemed to change.  Her tail stopped wagging.  She seemed very serious to me.

Maggie walked right up to the girls’ mom, Louise, who was kneeling down to pet her and Chester, and she leaned against Louise’s leg.  I could see Maggie looking from Louise to the girls.  I could feel her thinking, “Are those my babies?”

When we had visited Beagles and Buddies, Connie had told us that Maggie’s family gave her up because they had twin babies.  It wasn’t that Maggie wasn’t doing well with the babies.  It was just that having babies and a dog was “too much for them.”

Don’t get me started.

Seriously, do not get me started.  The best thing I can say about Maggie’s former family is that they got her to a no-kill shelter.  A nine-year-old dog at a public shelter would have had very little chance of not being euthanized there.

We have now had our precious Maggie (a.k.a. Magpie, a.k.a. Moo-pie, a.k.a. MooMoo) for almost five years.  She knows where her family is.  We are her family.  Forever.  And, once again, we are the lucky ones, because we get much more than we give.

The post OUR MAGGIE – THE LEMONY-EST OF LEMON BEAGLES! appeared first on Heidi Mastrogiovanni.

Our beloved beagle Eunice Petunia (she’ll be the subject of a future blog post) had passed away the week before Christmas in 2008. We had had two precious cats pass in the time that Eunice was with us, so for half a year she was the sole pet in our family. Her loss, while not unexpected because of her advanced age, was heartbreaking.

My lovely husband Tom will tell you that I basically spent the entire week after Eunice’s passing taking sporadic breaks from constant low-level whimpering and crying. The house was so empty without an animal’s presence, specifically without her presence.

I don’t remember where I heard of or read about Beagles and Buddies, a no-kill shelter near us in Southern California. But their name was in my head. Christmas was just so freakin’ sad that year. We sent our regrets to the gracious invitations we had received to spend the holiday with friends. I couldn’t be around people other than my dear Tom. We went to the movies (“Role Models,” a highly underrated comedy that I have watched over and over again because it is adorable) and then we went to one of our favorite hip diners in West Hollywood and ate vegetarian comfort food (starch…lots and lots of starch). And then we went home so I could cry some more in private.

I woke up the next day with a profound sense that I had had enough of this empty house we were in. I checked the Beagles and Buddies website. They were open on the day after Christmas. A sign from the Universe. I know that a lot of people can’t get another pet right after one of theirs dies. I’m sometimes like that. This was not going to be one of those times.

I woke Tom. It is not easy to wake Tom. Tom is not a morning person. That’s an observation, not a criticism (okay, maybe a brief, tiny moment of criticism… I wake up in full-on energy mode — which, I have to admit, can be very irritating to someone who spends the first conscious hour of his day grunting monosyllables with his eyes half closed).

I knew I needed to get Tom up and out as quickly as possible. So I opted for the invigorating qualities of screeching.

“WAKE UP! BEAGLES AND BUDDIES IS OPEN! WAKE UP!”

We stopped to get my beloved husband coffee on the way to the shelter. I was basically pulsating with nervous excitement all the way to El Monte. I can’t imagine that being in the car with me was an especially convivial experience that morning. Poor Tom. He’s a saint, as any friend of ours will tell you.

We parked a few spaces down the street from the shelter. The moment I got out of the car, I noticed an unusual kind of energy vibrating in the air.

“Beagles,” I gasped. Their baying was shaking the ground as I ran to get to the gate of the shelter.

Connie is the founder and director of Beagles and Buddies. She’s just great. We all love her. It was a busy day there because it was a holiday, but Connie gave us her full attention. I told her all about Eunice. While I was crying.

I imagine she gets a lot of that.

We explained that I had in mind adopting two bonded female beagles. And they had to be seniors. I feel that adopting senior animals is my special calling in life. There’s nothing better than giving a gray-faced animal a second (or third or fourth) chance at a happy life.

I know that makes me sound like I think I’m an especially wonderful person…but I do it for entirely selfish reasons. The first one being that I absolutely don’t have the patience for all that puppy energy; I really like sitting on the couch with my seniors napping next to me, and they do a lot of napping. The second reason being that you get much more than you give when you rescue a senior. Trust me on this.

We had adopted Eunice when she was 12 years old. Tom’s only request of our new pets was that they maybe be a little younger than Eunice was when we got her. Connie led us to one of the sections of the shelter. It was a lovely place (they have since relocated to Apple Valley and are in a much bigger sanctuary space) and was built around a house. They had beagles and they had buddies. There were big dogs and little dogs running around. The section Connie brought us to had a concentration of beagles. As soon as we entered the space, the lovely hounds ran up to us and demanded our attention. There were probably at least 40 dogs surrounding us.

I don’t do well when I’m overwhelmed. I was nervously smiling at all the baying and jumping and tail-wagging dogs. And I thought I was going to pass out.

“Tom, Connie, I need to not be here. Pick two beagles. Whichever ones you want. I need to sit down.”

I ran back to the cute, comfortable courtyard (Do you love alliteration as much as I do?). I sat on a bench next to a patio table and put my head against the side of the table. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. In just a few moments, I felt the table jolt as a weight dropped on it. I still had my exhausted eyes shut when I felt a presence near my ear and a snort of breath. I opened my eyes and turned them toward the exhalation.

And saw him. Staring at me. He had legs like drumsticks. And I saw something amazing on his face.

“CONNIE! TOM!”

I think the two of them may have feared that I was having a breakdown. They came running out of the beagle enclosure.

“He’s got an underbite! For the love of GOD, he’s got an underbite!”

“That’s Musketeer!” Connie said.

“What he is, dear Connie, is ours,” I said.

Connie told us that Musketeer had been with them for only a few days. He had been rescued from a substandard city shelter in Fresno (Tom’s hometown).

To this day, we still can’t believe that he wasn’t snapped up in the first fifteen minutes he was at Beagles and Buddies. We still can’t believe how lucky we are that we got him.

Connie told us that Musketeer was around five years old.

“That’s really young,” I momentarily fretted.

“Honey, it’s not like he’s a puppy,” Tom said.

It was a classic done deal. I asked Connie to please just pick out a senior female beagle for us to adopt along with Musketeer (yeah, that name was going to be history, pronto). She came out with a lovely tricolor girl named Jasmine.

“Wow, that is one meaty beagle,” I said to Tom when we first saw her. Eunice had been very petite. Jasmine was a sturdy girl. A very sturdy girl.

Musketeer and Jasmine had not been together at Beagles and Buddies, having been kept in different parts of the sanctuary. They rode the half hour to our home together in the back seat. They behaved as though they had known and liked each other forever. Such lovely, sweet little souls.

We always give our pets human names. We considered Jerry for our new boy. And Oscar. Chester was the name that stuck. Jasmine is indeed a human name, but we didn’t feel she looked like a Jasmine, so we named her after Tom’s grandmother, Geneva.

You know how all pets have a piece of your heart? And how some are just connected with you in a way that is unique and intense? Chester is that one for us. We had a special bond from the first moment; that was true for me and for Tom.

My dear late mother never met Chester. She was on the east coast and was no longer up for traveling, so we always went to visit her and my dad, and the kids stayed in Los Angeles with their wonderful pet sitter. But my parents got tons of photos of him and of Geneva (and Maggie and Squeaks and Mr. Joe and Sam and Gus and Faithie and…and…and…). My mother had a heavy German accent. Her assessment of Chester was: “Oh. That little one. He looks sad sometimes.”

An entirely accurate and lyrical description.

Over the years, Chester has been given the nicknames Chessie, Chessie Badoo, Westchester County, Manchego, and Yootza. Yootza is a character in my two Lala Pettibone novels. I don’t know where that name came from. One day, I just felt that he was telling me his nickname was Yootza. It suits him.

Chester is around 13 years old now. His face is gray. He’s doing well and has a lot of joyous energy, especially for a senior. We love him more than ever, if that’s even possible, which it apparently is. I now help with the Beagles and Buddies Facebook page. We are part of the Beagles and Buddies Family. We always will be. And while we are indeed giving a lot of love and care to Chester, we get much more in return. Trust me on this.

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