About forty years ago we were between dogs. Our precious Kater was gone. She was a full sized short haired dachshund. A friend at work had a long haired dachshund with a new litter of puppies. Kater had short black hair. These puppies would have long wavy red hair. The mother was pretty but mean. My friend distracted her long enough for me to grab the runt of the litter. It is said that they make the best pets. Not true.

That dog was born hateful. She took after her mother. It is said that if a young man wants to know what his true love will look like in forty years, just look to her mother. Oh well. We named her Maggie. Why, I don't know. That soon deteriorated into Maggot. She would scratch you; she would bite you; she would growl before and after she showed her meanness.

Maggie/Maggot hated the paperboy. He came every afternoon about four o'clock. She never met him. The nearest she ever got to him was when he walked up our driveway to the front porch. She could hear him throw our paper by the front door. She would be a snarling, growling, foul-minded, vicious mess as she saw him approach our house. Her dance of hate never changed.

Our granddaughter Mandy was in early elementary school. We often baby-sat her after school. She would ride the bus to our house. Maggot hated Mandy. Why should Mandy be the exception? Maggot hated everybody. She only tolerated me. We hoped she would grow out of her meanness, but that was not to be. She bit Mandy on two different occasions. Mandy never gave up trying to be a friend to Maggot, but to no avail.

Maggie/Maggot had a habit I had never seen in a dog. She sucked a tit. Not just any tit. She would look for a piece of fabric (Bath towels were her favorite, but anything would do.) Maggot would drag out a towel, lay down on the floor with it and bunch up the center with her paws until she had enough to suck on. There she would be, content, sucking away on her towel tit. Even I knew better than to try to take that towel from her.

I wasn't sure if I should include this information about Maggie, but it's too good to leave out. Maggie liked “pot.” My youngest son fed marijuana to Maggie. Unfortunately, she ate a lot and they couldn't wake her up. I was told he and his friends feared she would die. Maggie did survive, but addicted. After that she would search out purses and bags for her desired “fix.” They thought she was being friendly. Not so. She was only looking for a party. The only time Maggie was compatible was when she was mellow.

Maggie was brought to mind today during a phone call with my granddaughter up in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I told her we were into cats these days, not dogs. That was when she mentioned Miss Meanness, Maggie. “She hated you,” I reminded Mandy. “I hated her, too.” responded Mandy.

I know we are not supposed to hate, but couldn't we make an exception with Maggie/Maggot? I found twenty-two definitions of “meanness” in my synonym finder. They all apply to her.