Maggie May. Yes, after Rod's song. We've had Maggie since 1997 and it was estimated that she was probably 3 years old then (we were her 3rd family). That makes her about the age of DD#3/#4. Which makes me nervous. Maggie's a big girl (yes, takes after her mama LOL) and big girls don't usually make it much into their teen years. Maggie's never had an enemy (except feline). The yard man, the weed man, even late night TP'ers are her best friends. Maggie is deaf, having lost what seems to be the last of her hearing in the last month. She has cataracts. She has lumps and bumps that I know aren't normal. But she is happy, pain-free, stares at me with the most soulful eyes I've ever seen, and still comes running to me when I open my arms. I tell her she's my favorite girl. My real girls scoff, but they know she's my favorite furry girl.
This is my Maggie. I love her.
"My" does not apply to Hunter. He is not mine. He is his own. We 'inherited' Hunter a few years back and he is now 8. Hunter has nicknames: Hunter Bunter (no, we're not good poets), Dumb Dog, and, hubby's personal favorite: Hunter-I-don't-like-you. Now if you say any of these to him with a smile on your face, he will smile back and wag his tail in a clockwise circle. Hunter eats my peaches until he's sick for days on end. Hunter howls at leaves. Hunter howls at oxygen. Hunter wakes us up early on the weekends by barking at hot air balloons. Hunter spent time in Doggy Jail and lived to tell about it. Hunter eats sprinkler heads faster than hubby can replace them. (See above nickname.) Hunter pees on anything he looks at. But, in spite of all of his Hunter-I-don't-like-you traits, Hunter tries so hard to please and has the softest face. Ever.
This is Hunter. I even love him, too.