The Mysterious Margaret Moohouse

I am a weirdo.  Rich is a weirdo.  Buddy and Tag are weirdos.  To some extent, we all are a little strange, and that’s a beautiful thing.  But despite the fact that I am kookier than a clock, I have found someone possibly even more peculiar: Maggie.  This little fawn colored pit bull, so average in her markings and stature, is about as atypical as they come.

As Katy Perry would say, “You’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no, you’re in then you’re out, you’re up then you’re down.”  To which I would respond, “Yes, Moo most certainly is.  All of those things.”

One minute she is burrowing herself into a little ball, smashed up against me, with her nose carefully tucked into the crook of my arm.  The next second I make the mistake of grabbing a remote to change the channel and she sits bolt upright and gives me her crazy eyed glare.  “Why would you put that scary, most evil thing so close to me?!” she seems to ask.  Within a matter of seconds she has remembered that I am her number one defender and snuggled back up though.

“Oh my Dog, not the REMOTE!”

Most mornings we awake to grunts and snores emitting from this little anomaly who has very carefully positioned herself to be smack dab in the middle of the bed, usually with her face nestled up against one of ours.  Rich or I will sometimes wiggle her up so she is laying right on top of us and she will give us a few lazy kisses before laying her head down on our chest with a content sigh.  Other times we will attempt this move and Maggie will go stiff as a board and give us that crazy eyed glare, this time seemingly asking, “Exactly who do you think you are?  I am not interested in your snuggles this morning, thank-you-very-much.”

And then we have the tin foil.  Oh you evil, evil tin foil, you.  How the mere sound of me pulling the roll out from the drawer is enough to awaken Maggie from the deepest of sleeps and send her flying into the furthest away bedroom will forever baffle me.  In fact, anything metallic or shiny is pretty much The Most Evilest Thing On Earth if you ask Moo.  Except my shiny diamond ring.  That needs to be nibbled on.  Or the metal food and water dish (though I think it’s fairly obvious why those aren’t scary…) or keys or other various shiny, metallic objects which are oh-so-obviously not scary to Maggie.  And Maggie alone.

Oh, and there are Maggie’s fellow furry friends.  She trots along, leader of most pack walks, checking in and giving smooches to all of her friends, a regular social butterfly.  But if someone tries to give her an unsolicited smooch, well, that’s just not going to happen.  A lip curl, snarl, or possibly even a warning snip in their direction are all possibilities.  Or not.  She might just launch into a full blown make-out session.  You just never know.  And at doggie daycare?  She might sit in the corner and observe the others or she might be the center of the action, the queen of the zoomies, the champion of pool time.  You just never know.

“Lady, puh-lease.”

Despite her oddball, seemingly random fears, and mood swings that make Brittany Spears seem sane, Margaret Moohouse, my little Maggie Moo, is loved like no other.  It’s okay if we never solve the great mystery: Who is Maggie’s Forever Family? because she is loved, right here.  Moo is the first to express concern if one of us isn’t feeling well and the last to get out of bed in the morning.  She is weird and wonderful and, though I hope to continue loving the fear out of her, I hope she always retains a little of her mystery.  Life is just more interesting that way.