Late one night in 1992, something caught my eye on the side of the road. Looking in the rearview, I saw a tri-color ball of fluff peeking out of the tall grass. She was all eyes and fur back then, covered with dirt, with buckshot wounds in her chest, and scared to death. She was about 3 months old. Surprisingly, she came to me readily enough when I talked to her and, when I asked if she wanted to go home, she jumped straight in the car. Little did I know that when I saved her, she would return the favor a thousand times and then some. I am a veteran with PTSD, and Maggie quickly became an unofficial "Service" dog. I discovered that I could cope with everyday situations (and some not so everyday) that had given me trouble before. Crowded, busy places weren't so disturbing, and the house wasn't so empty and unnerving any more. Maggie went everywhere with me. She worked at my side on jobs that would allow it and waited patiently for me to come home from jobs that wouldn't. She saved my life literally on two occasions, and figuratively more times than I can count. Unfortunately, arthritis and age began to catch up with her a few years ago. Last year, when it became obvious that we had tried everything to manage her pain and mobility issues and nothing was working, we had to make the most painful decision of our lives. Maggie is and will always be greatly missed, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. A little dog rescued from the ditch? Yes, but she was also a Rescuer with a heart as big as the sky.

Kate
Shawnee, OK