“When the man waked up he said, ‘What is wild dog doing here?’ And the woman said, ‘His name is not Wild Dog any more, but the First Friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always.’” Rudyard Kipling.
The day I picked Maggie up from the animal shelter. — Photos by Charlie Trentelman
My Canine Traveling Companion
I’ve been trying to organize my hodgepodge of journals, photos, scrapbooks and newspaper clippings lately. Going through them has actually been fun, and they have brought me many a delightful memory, like the one picture above of me taking Maggie, a black cocker spaniel, home from the animal shelter in Ogden, Utah.
My dear friend and newspaper colleague Charlie Trentelman captured the moment.
Peaches came before Maggie, and while Peaches would have given her life to please me, Maggie expected me to give my life to please her. I loved them both equally, and am glad for the memories they left me. — Photo by Kim Perrin
Maggie, I was told, had been abused, and needed a good home. I had a blind, aging dog, Peaches, and had recently lost my 18-year-old cat Chigger, who came to me as a tiny kitten. I knew Peaches, who was depressed from the loss of the cat — which she ignored in the presence of others but curled up with during the day when no one was home – might benefit from some daytime company, as I was working long hours at the time.
It was a good decision. Maggie did cheer Peaches up, and then she cheered me up when I lost Peaches six months later. It took a while, however, and two cross-country road trips to Texas, before Maggie became comfortable with my wanderlust ways. When I got her, it soon became apparent that she didn’t like riding in the car. She would huddle on the floor and shake whenever I took her for a ride.
Thankfully, she adjusted, and when four years later I sold my home and moved the two of us into a small RV, she was as ready for the road and adventure as I was. So, it was that for the next eight years, we traveled this country from border to border and ocean to ocean.
Sadly, dogs don’t live as long as humans and in 2012, I had to say good-bye to Maggie. I was blogging and working on my book, Travels with Maggie, at the time. I posted a flower header, and if you will look to the right, you will see that I dedicated the flowers to Maggie, and I promised myself that it would be my only photo header until the book about our life together on the road was published.
That happened last month. But I think I will keep the flowers.
Bean Pat: Wild in the Pryors http://tinyurl.com/yd6wpote The Mighty Renegade, a horse love story. A great blog for those who love wilderness and the creatures that belong in it.
Pat Bean is a Lonely Planet Community Pathfinder. Her book, Travels with Maggie, is now up on Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/y8z7553y You can contact Bean at patbean@msn.com
Pat Bean's blog 
I have been enjoying your blog and the story of Maggie most of all. Perhaps because we recently our dog, Daisy May, recently died. She was a rescue dog that my wife brought home from the Ogden Farmer’s Market, just 2 years ago.
“She’s a runner,” the woman from the Black Dog Watch warned my wife, and gave a detailed history of 2 previous owners who had temporarily adopted the dog. Daisy May–a tiny snaggle-tooth rat terrier was a free agent street dog for most of her life.
Though lovable and obedient when on leash, Daisy May was ever vigilant and resourceful at finding new ways to escape. She ran away at least once a week during the first few months, but never very far. Easily located at the nearby city park where she was perfectly willing to be recaptured.
The neighbors are knew her and regularly alerted us to her current location. Our yard is fenced but she was so tiny she squeezed between cracks, so we re-enforced the fence with chicken wire. Had to chicken-wire the compost heap, too, because she would eat anything.
But Daisy May was an old dog when we got her and not in good health. After a while she came to realize this was home and she started a new practice of returning to our house and waiting out front for us to notice her presence. Keeping her options open, always.
Bob Sawatzki
I remember chasing after Maggie, barefoot in snow, when she squeezed out the door shortly after I had gotten her. After a couple weeks, she didn’t want to get more than 25 feet from me. But if she wanted to go investigate something, she kept that 25 feet distance no matter how much I coaxed her to me and I could never get closer to her than that until she was done with her investigation. I think she actually felt more comfortable walking on a leash, then not, however. Peaches, on the other hand, was insulted if you put a leash on her, but always stayed close by me side.