I cannot believe I am writing this. Around 2 am this morning our loving pup, Maverick, had an unexpected health problem. Hours later, we found ourselves sitting in a room at the emergency vet, making the seemingly impossible decision to let him cross the rainbow bridge.
Maverick was the definition of a very good boy. He loved ear and belly scratches, often finding his way next to you and then rolling onto his back, waiting for you to scratch. He loved treats of every kind but was especially passionate about getting cheese and vegetables. He could hear the crinkle of a bag of cheese from anywhere in the house and race to the kitchen to sit and wait patiently. It was nearly impossible to cut a pepper or cucumber without finding him underfoot. He would silently walk behind Nora and try and steal pieces of watermelon from her hand. He relished roadtrips to visit Grammy and Pops. When my dad moved in with us, Maverick kept him company when we were at work. He and I would faceoff in the hallway, each doing a play bow and gentle barks back and forth. On cold nights, he settle in next to us with his head on a pillow.
We adopted Maverick 14 years ago this month. We are so lucky that we had that much time with him. When we adopted Maverick, he was somewhere around a year old. We fell in love with him right away. However, we did not get the final vote on adopting him. That fell to Miley, our first dog. She had a history of aggression towards other dogs, and it would take the perfect match if we were going to be a two-dog household. Miley wasted no time showing Maverick that she was alpha, but where she had been aggressive with other dogs, Maverick seemed to pass the test.
Part of why Miley was ok with Maverick was because he was a very timid dog. He may have only been one year old, but his first year of life was a hard one. Maverick was born in a puppy mill — large-scale breeding opperations notorious for the poor treatment and care of their dogs. Often when puppy mills have dogs that have slight imperfections, do not sell, or if the mill is overcapacity and has an inspection coming up, they will dump their unwanted dogs on shelters and rescue groups. That puppy mill had broken Maverick. The dog we brought home was wary of people. He panicked in narrow spaces or when walking through doors. He refused to walk up or down stairs and would cower when we approached a flight of them. This was a problem because you had to take a few steps up to get from our front door to our yard. It took us three months to convince him that the stairs were safe. That was three months of picking him up and carrying him to the grass every time he had to go out. Slowly, he learned to conquer his fear. We also saw Miley transition from keeping her distance to loving him. He changed her. Over time, her aggression toward other dogs lessened, and she became a much more social dog.
Miley was not the only dog that Maverick changed. As the damage from the puppy mill healed and Miley became less aggressive towards other dogs, we began to foster for MidAmerican Boston Terrier Rescue. We fostered for years until our daughter, Nora, was born. In total, we fostered around 50 dogs over those years. Every one of them was greeted by Maverick. He gave those who needed space the space they wanted. He played until near exhaustion with those who wanted to play. He worked hard to make sure none of them snored louder than he did. Given his timid start, it was incredible to see his confidence and swagger grow with each passing foster pup.
As the years went by, Maverick aged, grayed, and slowed down. We lost Miley after a long battle with Cushing’s Disease. A while later we adopted Benson from MidAmerican Boston Terrier Rescue. Mav was older and had less play in him than he used to, but despite their differences in energy levels they formed a loving bond. Benson doesn’t really do personal space and Maverick was always up for a warm cuddle.
When Nora was born, Mav was unsure what to make of her. He didn’t really love loud noises, and babies are good at making them. Even recently, the loud clamor of a five-year-old would send him running. He did discover during her toddler years that the best place in the house was under her chair at dinner time. He would frequently wait until she fell asleep, use his paws to push the door open to her room, and curl up in a ball at the end of her bed. He loved to be with her in those quiet moments, sharing a bed and probably a few farts. On his final night with us, likely just before he suffered the stroke that would eventually end his life, there he was curled up in bed with Nora.
Fourteen years is a long time. And I am thankful to have had every single one with Maverick. He was loyal to us, he loved us, and he gave us companionship in the times we needed it the most. A good way to end this story is by sharing my favorite thing Maverick would do. Like most dogs, Maverick loved to go on walks. Even at fourteen, when he saw us grab his collar or leash, he transformed back into a puppy. He found a level of energy I didn’t know he still had. He would sprint to the door, make a few gentle barks, and jump in circles until his leash was on. Every time, it brought me so much joy. That’s the memory of him I will treasure most.
