MAGGIE
By Ed Hager

Isn't it amazing how our great, Creator God, Author and Sustainer of the vast universe, knows us by name and blesses us through the seeming insignificant details of our lives? I will never forget the valuable lesson He taught me through a little dog named Maggie.
I got married in late January during semester break of my senior year of college. By early February my new bride was bored! While I was off taking classes, preparing to become a pastor and carrying out my duties as a "high class executive" in the mailroom of the local newspaper for $1.25 an hour, she was sitting at home staring at the freshly painted walls of our three room, $15 a week, upstairs apartment. Being the intellectual giant I am, I figured a workable solution would be to get her something to keep her company. That's when I met Maggie.
She was six weeks old, about twice as old as my marriage and fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. She was black with a white streak across her face and a patch of white on her tail that, like the proverbial carrot on a stick, seemed unceasingly to be the object of her pursuit. Maggie was of questionable stock, but she was free, so I hid her under my coat and took her home . . . my first Valentine's gift to my wife.
From the very beginning Maggie seemed to act, not only like she belonged, but like she owned the place. I remember when I first sat her down, her little claws were so long she couldn't walk on the rug without getting them caught and couldn't walk on the linoleum without having her tiny feet slip out from under her. So early on I discovered how she hated to have her nails clipped. Not surprisingly, though, she survived and even learned to enjoy our company at times.
Winter soon turned to Spring and with the ending of school came the opportunity for a summer internship at a church in another city. Being unfamiliar with her new neighborhood, Maggie, quite naturally, wanted to explore. Upon finding her, after a lengthy search, I was aghast to discover she hadn't listened to me when I'd instructed her on the evils of male dogs. Consequently, a few months later we had four additions to our happy family. Cutting up a big box, I drew her picture over the door and filled it with whatever I thought would make her comfortable as she gave birth to her pups. I wanted to share this important time with her, so when my wife called to say Maggie had started her delivery, I rushed home and sat down by her bed.
Having never had that experience I wasn't sure what to do, so I just rubbed her head and softly spoke words of encouragement. She was a brave little mother and without the benefit of prenatal classes or manuals, hardly squealed at all. When it was all over I'm not sure who was most relieved, but she seemed glad we were there.
As the years sped by I completed my seminary training, served as an Associate pastor and was now preparing to move again. During that period our two children were born, diminishing our time and interest in Maggie, so it was somewhat of a relief when the landlord told us "NO PETS!" It gave us the excuse we thought we wanted to get that troublesome dog out of our hair.
Our new parish was only about an hour from my sister's farm, so she agreed to keep Maggie, at least until we found a place that would allow dogs. Busying myself with my new assignment, my visits to see my sister became fewer and further between, thus lessening my thoughts of and desire to see Maggie.
On one of my now rare visits Maggie hobbled over and hopped up on the side of my chair. Her leg, paw and chest were noticeably swollen. She stared at me with her big sad eyes as if to say, "Won't you please help me?" But knowing I didn't have the resources to get her treatment, I instinctively told her to get down and go away. It was Sunday afternoon, so I was relieved and my guilt diminished when my sister assured me she would take Maggie to the Vet on Monday.
It slipped my mind as I prepared for the evening service and planned my week's activities, but within a few days I drove out to my sister's. My mom was babysitting, so I asked her where Maggie was. Before she could answer, my little niece announced matter-of-factly, "Oh, she's dead." My mom looked hurt, but proceeded to tell me how Sunday evening Maggie had gone out to the well house and laid down. They had heard her cough and had gone to check, but she had already died.
She was just an ordinary little dog. No pedigree, no real claim to fame, but in those brief moments, as the weight of what I had allowed to happen began to register, the pages of my memory began to rustle. I remembered one Spring before our kids were born, the neighbors were buying wading pools for their children, we bought one for Maggie. I remembered how she loved to swim, to chase balls, to have her tummy rubbed and how she'd "speak," roll over or sit up on command. I remembered sitting by her big "box" bed when she delivered her pups. She was all we had in those days.
I stood there awhile, not saying much and soon found my way to the car and headed for home. But I didn't get far before I had to stop, my eyes blurred with tears. She was such a special little dog. She'd tried to tell me she was sick, she was hurting, that she didn't have much time, but I hadn't listened, I hadn't helped and now it was too late. So there I sat, crying the bitter tears of remorse and feeling the awful emptiness that comes from not realizing how much I'd loved that little dog until I'd lost her!
As the years have passed, I've come to understand that God in His infinite wisdom, allows us to learn things in times of pain that we can learn at no other time and in no other way. There aren't many times I see a dog, especially a little black dog, that I don't think of Maggie and the lessons she taught me about life and love. The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I long to go to my eternal home in Heaven to be with Him and to worship Him, but there are times I can relate to what Will Rogers said, "If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went." If any dog ever deserved to go to Heaven, it was Maggie!