I was a pain in the ass kid. I can’t candy coat it. I secretly [with my outside voice] take pride in knowing most of my mom’s grey hairs are my fault. I think she should look at each as a trophy and be proud that we both survived my teens.  But no, instead she cursed me.  Boldly and loudly, she wished upon me a daughter that would bring me as much grief as I did her.

Never would’ve believed the mother’s curse is really a thing. But it is, it’s a thing! If you think you can escape the curse by simply not having kids, I’m here to tell you it will manifest! Meet my mother’s curse, Maybe

I lived in apartments for 20’odd years. Being an animal lover, I settled on the small living space, no outdoor space, couldn’t care if you lived or died, cat.  Matter o’ fact, I had two for most of my apartment dwelling years.  They died [of natural causes] and then I bought a house. Almost immediately I started hunting for a puppy.  Now, if you have been in an apartment, you know the thing about noise, right?  You can’t make any. Ever. I respected and lived by that code in the hopes that my neighbors would be as courteous but mostly no. Perhaps it was a little bit spite, but mostly it was the joy of freedom – I was looking for a big, loud, barky, howly thing, because it’s my house and I do what I want! (I will never tire of saying that)

I repeatedly changed my search parameters until I found a sweet looking little Catahoula hound mix puppy, her profile detailed her name as “Smudge.”  What’s a Catahoula?  I had no idea – but I was keen on the “hound” part so I filled out the application. When the rescue called, I was told that Smudge had already been promised to someone else but I could go to the foster’s house and meet the other 9 puppies to see if I’d be interested in a sibling.

When I got to the house the woman led me into her front room, it was mostly bare, except for a single small couch, the hall to the next room had been gated off. I was knocked back almost immediately by all these jumpy little fuzzballs. It was heaven. I was trying to look at each one to identify the pup I’d seen online, but they were so fast and so licky! They had me pinned, each vying for attention, all except for one. One smart little thing saw that while I had the attention of all the other puppies, the only toy had been abandoned in the middle of the room. She took that toy and quietly dragged it to the corner where she had it all to herself. Independent little thing, that’s gonna be my dog! “No, that’s Smudge, she’s already been promised to someone else,” the foster lady insisted.

Baby Smudge, actual adoption page profile photo

I called the rescue president every day to ask if Smudge had been picked up yet and Janeen would ask if she could talk me into one of the other puppies but she could not. Which, in retrospect, makes me wonder now, did I refuse the other puppies because they were available? Am I really so stubborn that I only ever want what I can’t have? Or were Smudge and I just fated to be together? I’m still not sure if the other adopter didn’t show, if there even was another adopter or if I just wore her down. But before she relented, Janeen reiterated; “Catahoula’s are not for beginners. You promise to call me if you have ANY – and I mean ANY problems!”

This was the first time I’d adopted a dog from a rescue. I’d been in an apartment for so many years, the last dog I had was adopted from the local shelter. Aside from the fifteen-page application, the blood sacrifice and the signed statement promising to neuter all puppies by 6 months of age, were there any other rules? Most importantly, can I change her name? My sister had a cat named “Smudge” and it seemed insulting to continue calling my new puppy a cat word. With hesitation Janeen asked what I wanted to call her. Smudge got her name because, while most of her was a merle tan and white, her face was smeared with black. The obvious choice was “Tammy Faye Barker” but Janeen and I agreed that Tammy was not a good name to yell in the dead of night. So, with Janeen’s blessing, we went with option two, “Maybelline,” because she looked like smoky eye the morning after, “Maybe” for short.

The first couple days Maybe was very polite. She was quiet and shy. She would sit at my feet when I was at the kitchen sink, patiently waiting for me to have time to play. I thought, for a three-month-old puppy with no training, this dog is an angel! No, she had kennel cough. She had traveled from Arizona to California. She had jumped from one foster to another and another. The poor thing was drained and soon after I brought her home, the cough hit. I’m glad I don’t have human children, watching this poor little puppy hacking away just broke my heart. I called Janeen for advice, she did say “any problem” and this first one was so out of my wheelhouse! But she had years of experience, told me not to worry, insisted that she’d be fine and not to waste money on a vet. She was right, she’s always right, but I still took a couple days off work anyway.

Have you ever heard of the “333” rule of dogs?  “It takes 3 days to decompress, 3 weeks to settle and 3 months for a dog to know it’s home” At 3 weeks and 1 day, I met the real Maybe.

My first true heart attack was the day Maybe got out. Now I had promised Janeen all my fences were in order, they were! The entire yard was enclosed, I put padlocks on the gates. I couldn’t have made it any safer if I’d lined every inch with bubble wrap! Or at least, that was my perspective as a human. I had gone home from work at lunch to let Maybe out to potty and it was such a nice day! She sprawled out on a small patch of grass and just soaked up the sun. The human guilt hit me and I just couldn’t drag her back into the house and crate her. She was an animal, she needed to be outside doing.. you know.. animal things attributed to domestic dogs! Confident that nothing could possibly go wrong, I closed the slider and went back to work.

When I returned that night, just 4 hours later, Maybe was gone. I searched every inch of the yard. I yelled, I whistled. I walked up and down the street. There was no sign of her. I got frantic and ran from inside to outside, out the garage, in the gate. I was looking for any sign to lead me in her direction. It felt like hours! But no, probably only 20-30 minutes but I accepted defeat. I knew I had to call Janeen and tell her I blew it. From the backyard I walked in through the slider to get the phone and there was Maybe. She was sitting so matter-o-factly in the center of the kitchen, just staring at me like she’d been there the whole time. I don’t know where she’d been, I don’t know where she’d come from, the bubble gum matted into the fur on her belly was the only indicator she’d even gone. I called my mom to unload my frustrations, hoping for a little sympathy but I’m pretty sure I could hear her smiling while she reminded me all the times I’d snuck out.