As I have frequently mentioned and penned, beagles and hounds are my dogs of choice; Mango was my first, at least, the first beagle that I owned as an adult. they say that you don't chose the dog, that the dog chooses you. In Mango's case, I know that this is the truth. we found her the week after my fathers memory service. she had been wandering in Scarborough, the place I was born and raised and found on the day of his service. Max had told me frequently, "any dog but a beagle." so I had never pushed it. besides our house was full with Phoebe, Amy and a guinea pig, not to mention 2 very quickly growing boys.
I can still remember the aching in my heart at that time. nothing could fill it; not max, not work, not the boys. the hole from my fathers passing was just too large.
Jarrett and I had some time to kill that Thursday night before his music lesson so we stopped in at the Petcetera to get some treats for the dogs at home and to window shop at the adoptable pets. there was a lovely mixed pup greeting us that Jarrett pointed out and my response was, "yes, but its not a beagle." I turned around, and there she was. Thin, and cheerful, wagging to greet us. Jarrett looked at me questioningly, knowing his father would never agree to a third dog, especially a full grown beagle. Still a girl could dream!
when we got home, Max was working in the garage and I told him there was a beagle for adoption at the pet store. I never once asked if I could have her since I knew what the answer would be. Something in my face must have tugged at him, and believe me, no wife ever loved a man more than i did in the next 3 minutes. He looked pensive and answered, "well, it wouldn't be the smartest thing to do, but then, we haven't always done the smartest thing." Suddenly, that hole left by my dads death was a lot smaller.
there was no looking back. I let the boys stay home from school the next day and was at the store before it opened. Mango was ours. I considered changing her name, but when Connor noted that she was even named after his favourite fruit, I knew that it was meant to be.
Her beginning was auspicious to say the least. although I had been raised with dogs and especially knew beagles, Max was not. The first thing I got her was a name tag because I knew beagles ran the first chance they got. Max took a bit longer to learn this. I think it first sunk in when he jokingly told her to get a cat that was on the other side of our yards fence. Mango promptly cleared the fence and chased the cat down the street. She could climb most of the chain link and run like the wind.
One winter, Max took her cross country skiing. he returned after 4 hours without Mango. I asked him "where is my dog?" he replied: gone. I promptly told him that he best get back out there and find her because at that moment, I liked her better than him! I don't think that he has ever forgiven me for that. Gratefully, in true beagle fashion, she had gone up to a strangers door and bedded down for the night until they could find us. She was no worse for wear, but Max was mad at her for a year!
the last year of her life was hard on her: she went blind, was anaemic and sore; yet she never once lost her cheerful disposition or complained. even the last night she was with me, she laid by my side as if comforting me instead of the other way around.
Our wonderful vet came to the house to see Mango on her way. Strange isn't it that in this ritual at least, we are kinder to animals than to humans. Dr. Michelle cried almost as much as I did, knowing that this beagle was one in a million and would be sorely missed.
I hope she finds my dad and the bluegrass music in heaven. I hope that she finds lots of bunny trails with cottontails to chase. Most of all, I hope she knows how much I loved her and that it wasn't us that rescued her; it was the other way around. Mango, my beagle blessing, that healed my broken heart.
