Things I Love Thursday: Maggie and Nash

Sometimes the right decision is a really difficult one to make.

Like not eating another burrito.
Or not sleeping through the kids' awards assembly.

But especially when it involves giving your dog away.

I've avoided this post because it's just too painful to speak about. It honestly makes me sick to my stomach. But people would eventually wonder where Maggie is..

So here's the deal:

Several weeks ago Maggie attacked a friend of our family. Unprovoked, out of nowhere, with no obvious reason at all. It was every bit as horrifying and awful as you can imagine—both for the sweet woman she was violent towards as well as our family. (Yes, this lovely lady we know is doing well and is okay, thank GOD!)

It was gut-wrenching, but we knew what we needed to do. 
We just didn't want to. At all. Ever.

Because the Maggie we knew was our best girl.

The squirrel watching aficionado.

Frisbee-catching McGee.

Nose-to-the-ground Hound.

Our sweet, sad-eyed Magnolia.

I've said so many times that our pets are the background music of our lives. The added joy bonus in the every day that we sometimes fail to appreciate.

Until they're not there.

And you realize you could pick out the cadence of her nails hitting the hardwood floors if given a lineup to choose from.

But if given a bag of Fritos and her paws to sniff, it would just be a 50/50 chance on who's who.

Dog ownership isn't always rainbows and butterflies as any dog owner will confess. There are chewed up rugs, poop incidents, copperhead bites, second copperhead bites, and the emergency vet bills that follow.

But it's worth it to have a sidekick who's always happy to see you and greets you with a wag and a smile.

All dog owners think their dogs smile.

We had seen some glimpses of Maggie's "protective" nature a couple of times before. But nothing like the infamous day of crapola where we saw a side of her that was too scary to look past and trust with the frequent, unannounced company we have with our children and their friends.

We are eternally grateful that the rescue we adopted her from almost five years ago was willing to take her back and work with her in hopes of identifying her "trigger." We pray they'll be able to eventually re-home her where all involved parties will be safe and happy.

While Drop Off Day will forever be known as one of our worsts, we choose to remember our sweet Maggie Girl for the immeasurable amount of joy she brought to our home.

Make no mistake. We still feel like this about losing her:

Welp. I said I'd cried all the tears, but turns out, I was sorely wrong.

I just miss her.

Enter now from stage left:

The Rebound Pup.

Approximately five minutes after saying extremely rational things like:

-We are never getting another dog, ever EVER.
-All dogs are dumb. Except for Maggie. We can't have her, so will become cat people. 
-I don't have time to train a puppy. So, NO.
-Getting another dog would be cheating on Maggie. 

...I decided we were fools and that the voids left in our soul from Maggie's untimely departure might best be soothed with a new dog.

Not a replacement.

Maggie is Maggie, and our Maggie-shaped heart holes shall not be filled.

But perhaps a rebound pup to make new memories with miiiiiight help.

Let me introduce you to....


If you're thinking, "Wait. Steve Nash...isn't that the retired NBA player/unkempt/unassuming baller? then you're thinking along the right lines.

This is what happens when you're still in mourning and you've generally given up on all big decisions and ask your kids what they want to do.

You get a dog with a name like Steve Nash.

Nash is a mini Australian Labradoodle currently weighing in at 7.6 pounds. 

There's a good chance we have almost stepped on him 100 times.

My friend who also suffered through a sweet-dog-gone-rogue-resulting-in-a-giveaway situation raved about her rebound pup of this same breed. 
Long story short:

I sent out a few emails about available 'doodle pups before realizing this breed was well out of our budget (read: Maggie was adopted from a rescue, so our "budget" was an application fee.) Needless to say, when I saw the sticker tag I promptly went back to the humane society pages.

A few days later, a breeder emailed asking if I was still interested in Nash (the fur ball formally known as "Benji") because he had been claimed but his new owner was having trouble with her current dog acting aggressively towards him. The breeder suggested I call the new owner and throw out a price and a time I could get him.

So I did that. Low balled this new owner on a hope and a prayer. She accepted. Drove to NC that night and picked him up the next day.


Steve Nash Ussery in the house.

Don't give me grief about this costume.

There was only one left at Target in size XS and I've never had a dog that tiny, so it was a necessary move.
Nothing to see here.

The boys were pleasantly surprised with the arrival of Nash considering the last words I uttered about a future dog were something along the lines of "noooooooooo."

Puppyhood continues to be exactly what you expect.

Pees and poops in undesirable locations.

(Note: Exhibit A. Center console turds. Thankfully, not my center console, but the center console of the other adult under this roof who refers to "Nash" as "you.")

But I have a good feeling about this one.

And if you know us, you know that means absolutely nothing because we are fairly terrible at pet longevity.

We're hopefully about a week into years and years of new memories with this bundle of sweetness.

He's not Maggie. We know that.

He's Nash.
Steve Nash.
And we're gonna earn some rewards points at the groomers I'm sure. 

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