Oh, Maggie. I love you. I love you and you’re insane. I love you and you’re insane AND I couldn’t be luckier to have you in my life. 

Maggie was the rescue that had to be rescued…a few times. She wasn’t right for any of those other families, but she was right for me. 

What is it I love so much about her? She gives me hope that if I was as good at anything as Maggie is at finding tennis balls in random locations, well, I’d be rich. She’s OBSESSED.

Dirty room? Ball. Clean room? Ball. Room that had no balls? Ball. No balls? Suddenly there’s 15 at your feet. Oh and once she finds them? There’s no turning back. You’re trapped. She wants to play.

It’ll start with a look - other border collie owners know the look - and then escalate to a yip. The yip will catch you off guard because of its silent nature, and then she’ll yip a few more times…and then the snap. Now it’s serious. After a few more of those snaps, we’ve escalated to a full-on bark.

Maggie is determined. But so am I.

What I am not, however, is prepared for her to go from stalking me down to in my lap, paws on either shoulder, giving me all the kisses someone could dream of. Suddenly, I reach for the ball, and we’re off. I’m a mark and she’s too smart - she wins every time. She’s proof that equally unconditional love and absolute mania can be a good combo sometimes (only recommend this with dogs).

That’s my squirrel, Maggie. She’s scared of the wind, scared of the stove, scared of the doors, scared of the floors. She’s always at 100. She stinks a lot. But she’s perfect, and I love her.

And I can throw the ball, so she loves me. And that’s enough.