A Tale of Two Tails

This is the tale of two tails: a tail named Bandit and a tail named Maggie. The Bandit tale begins over a decade ago with a tiny puppy named Two Tone. Now the details I am about to share with you may not be entirely factual due to me only being the ripe ole age of 10 when this transpired, however in my mind, this is how it all began.


Our church friends had a little purebred Jack Russell terrier. She wasn't a very friendly dog to me and looked very much like a white rat. Maybe if I looked like an overgrown rat I would not be very friendly either, but that is beside the point. It was this dog that was put in the charge of the family's children while they were vacationing at the lake. "Do not let her out of your sight," they were told, for see, she was in heat. Residing at the lake at the same time was a very friendly purebred Fox Terrier. Now he was tall and handsome and took quite the liking to the overgrown rat-looking dog. I will spare you the details, but needless to say, the children lost sight of their charge for long enough that a few short months later, puppies arrived.

Now here is the part of the story of which we become a part. For some reason I cannot recall, we were over at the Jack Russell Terrier's owner's house. My mother was introduced to the then named "Two Tone" and had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that he would soon be coming home with us. However, the time was not yet right, so home we went that night without a canine. Later that week my mother received a phone call.

She was told that "Two Tone" was looking at being sentenced to life with a family who already had dogs but who were wanting a new puppy. The fear was that this family would love "Two Tone" until he became a dog and then they would lose interest in him. We could not let that happen. So after conferring with one another in a joint moment of insanity, my parents decided that we could not let that loveable little puppy who fell asleep on my mother's chest and stole her heart be sentenced to that life. A Bandit was born.

Bandit was no more than a little ball of white and brown fur when he first came to live at his new home. Oh, how he was spoiled. He had the softest bed that he would sleep in while my sister and I did our schooling. He was house broken quick, too. This little puppy had quite the personality. The very same night we brought him home, a stray cat started hanging around our house. This cat must have had an identity crisis for it became best friends with the feline's sworn nemesis - a dog. My parent's, in what must have been another lapse in sanity, allowed this large feline to hang out around our house, feeding it and even naming it Montana. Bandit and Montana became best buds, rumbling and tumbling around the yard. Montana raised Bandit to play and fight like a cat. Thankfully, Bandit never had to fend for himself too often, for a dog is not too effective when he rolls over on his back and scratches his foe with his hind legs while biting him. Sanity must have briefly returned to my parents, for after a few weeks (or months, I am not sure) we packed up Montana and took him to the shelter so he (or she I do not think that was ever truly determined) could adopt a new family.

Bandit grew and turned into quite the love. He had a slight identity crisis, for although he was male (a neutered male, but a male nonetheless) he would come running whenever my mother would call "girls!" He loved going out on the boat with us. We were very responsible pet owners for he even had his own life jacket. That was a necessity since we would put him in the tube with us and be towed behind the boat together. We would also take him to the park and go exploring. He loved going down the slides and especially liked romping through the woods. The City of Germantown was in the middle of a flood control project of some sort, attempting to create a lake/pond. Well, at this time, it was a huge mud puddle surrounded by mounds of dirt. Oh, how Bandit loved playing in that mess. So much in fact that my parents decided he needed to walk home. Looking back, I am not so sure whether that was because he was so muddy or that we were and it was more polite to say that it was the muddy dog who wasn't allowed in the car instead of the muddy children. Nevertheless, we did not mind.

I did say that sanity had only briefly returned to my parents, right? About the time that Bandit was turning two years old, the family cat passed away, and it was determined that Bandit was lonely and needed another canine with which to pal around. I took it upon myself to find the perfect friend for Bandit. I read the classified ads almost every day and looked up the different breeds in the encyclopedia to determine their size, color, and temperament. One morning I discovered an ad for cuddly little bears - beagle mix puppies that were 8 weeks old for somewhere in the range of $30. I begged and pleaded so my mother made a phone call to my father, who must not have truly been paying attention to what my mother was telling him, because for whatever reason, they agreed that my mother would call the people with the puppies to see if any were still available. Long story short, a few hours later we were in a not so good part of town, in a strange man's backyard, falling in love with a black ball of fur. My mother handed the man the money and he handed her the puppy. My mother had two very excited children with her. I supposed she was excited herself, for the first place we went was to my father's place of employment for her to share with him the newest member of our family. My father was quite taken with the little ball and took the puppy back inside to show her off while we waited in the car. And waited. And waited. What seemed like hours later (remember, I was only about 12 at this point) my father returned with the puppy fast asleep. She had been so good that he had taken her to a meeting and she had slept, all snuggled in his arms. That night we had a family meeting in the kitchen and tried to decide what to name the new canine. Since I was the instigator, she became Maggie, a nickname of my middle name, Margaret. A Maggie tale had begun.

Maggie was such a Daddy’s girl. She followed him around, slept with him, and would hang out in the yard with him when he was outside working. She had the hound yelp and would cry with delight if she was outside when her daddy came home. She did tolerate the rest of us and would grace us with her affection when her daddy was unavailable. She wasn’t much a fan of the boat, but she did like exploring the beaches, with her daddy of course. She would go trapsing through the snow turn almost white. She loved hunting wildlife. Anything that came close to her property was fair game: birds, squirrels, chipmunks. As she became older, she loved to go outside and just watch “Chipy,” the chipmunk. They would have staring contests until one moved then the chase would begin. Maggie was Wiley the coyote and Chipy the roadrunner.

Bandit and Maggie. The Buddy Boy and the Girly Girl. Two tails. They both brought such joy and fullness to our lives. They were always there, through moves and job changes, surgeries and sicknesses, boyfriends and ex-boyfriends, engagements and weddings. Bandit and Maggie were always at the door to greet you when you got home. Although Bandit ate his fair share of my American Girl doll accessories and my sister's band book, and Maggie ate her share of furniture and tried to eat Bandit, they were part of the family.

Bandit was the first to become ill. He was a fighter though and held on for many years past what the original diagnosis was. Maggie's illness came on suddenly. She hung in there and then went peacefully in the comfort of her own home with her Bandit boy not too far away.

Bandit held on for a few more weeks, but his little body just wouldn't listen to his will to live. Bandit was humanely put to rest - the greatest gift to give to the dog that allowed us to be a part of his life's tale.