The Trouble With Maggie By Sara Bloom

At the end of the workout, she’d trot up the beach exhilarated but reeking from salt water and marine life. To compound the stench, Maggie would sniff her way home alongNorth Bayview Road, tracking down interesting smells to roll over on, twisting her body and flailing her legs in the air on grass, old clam shells, bird droppings and, easily her favorite, the petrified remains of road kill.

But once home, she knew the drill and would head directly for the backyard, where I had shampoo and a towel ready. Clearly, for three weeks, Maggie was the cleanest dog in Southold — maybe the wholeNorth Fork. And while she still smelled like a dog, at least it was one that had been lathered and scrubbed with generous amounts of Head & Shoulders.

In spite of her bath-intensive visit, Maggie didn’t hold the experience against us. She still charges out of the car and rips through the house to the kitchen, her tail thumping on the floor in anticipation of the treats closeted there. I’m sure she’d rather be outside rolling on the grass, or belly-down in a hole she’s dug by the azalea bush. But, sensitive to our concerns, when she’s in the house, sprawled out on the floor watching TV or a movie with all the rest of us, I know she’s trying to be as sweet-smelling as possible.

 

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