Page 164 - Advance Copy: Todd Kaufman, Author

TODD KAUFMAN
was willing to stay in bed and snuggle.
Maggie had a bright orange rubber ball she cherished. A
startling exception to sleep-ins would be made if anyone in our household seemed inclined to start my morning early and shout, “Ready, set, BALL!!” – then it was game on, and Dad had to immediately hop out of bed, pull on sweats, and head to the park. ‘Ball’ became a verboten word in my household prior to coffee. It seemed Maggie knew about the three keys to neuroplastic change, Intention, Repetition and Reward. She would intentionally drop that orange ball at your feet, on your face, or anywhere she could to get your attention, relentlessly repeating her efforts until she got her reward. Darn smart dog she was!
And Maggie had a huge fat tail. She used that tail to tell us about her excitement or contentment. With seeming little effort Maggie would lift her monster tail and let it fall on my beaten up old pine wood floors. That warm ‘thump’ could be heard through out the house. Often ensconced in the den next to the fireplace, Maggie would see dogs or monkeys on TV (she LOVED monkeys) and that monster tail would thump so fast and furious it sounded like we had the drummer from Styx practicing on the second floor. Maggie’s buddy Larry nicknamed her ‘Thumper’ and the moniker stuck. ‘Thumper’ was used most often when she was in uber love mode and that tail was playing a tune of joy!
When Maggie became a grand old lady, and her tail thumping had slowed to match her age, our city passed a law that Maggie had to move from her lifelong home or be killed. The nasty reputation of a few of other dogs of Maggie’s breed had unjustly tainted ALL dogs of her breed, and the reputation was flat out wrong, and not good.
Maggie was a pitbull. The kindest, cutest, cuddliest, tail thumping puppy you would ever like to meet. And a horrible a reputation had befallen her through no fault of her own.
We ignored the city and let Maggie live out her few last
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