Margot

He said never again. Firm decision, a hard no. The Carpenter was clear. We were done. It was fun while it lasted, but no more. We’d done our time. Moving on. 

A successful marriage requires compromise and healthy boundaries respected by both parties. I know this, really I do. Logically, I agreed with my spouse. Never again. Emotionally, I wasn’t so sure. Yet, I understood the rationale. I made peace with the decision. Next stage of life, and all.

Then she showed up. Ophelia. She appeared as a series of photos in a text from my friend Janet. Ophelia was an adorable little black and white puppy, just about a month old, that Janet had met on her morning run along a rural road in Belwood. 

That simple text message was all it took to obliterate the tough talk. Destiny by text. I knew at that moment, we were going to change the fate of Ophelia, (little Taylor Swift humour there – it had to be done).

Ophelia was part of the Pawsitively Furever pet rescue. She was fortunate to have a good foster mom in Val in a loving country home. Every pup should begin their life with Val. Her patience and compassion set all of her now re-homed pups up for success. 

Now, before you all start accusing me of using manipulative tactics on the Carpenter (many of which, I assure you, he’d volunteer for), know that I did nothing of the sort. I simply showed him the photos of Ophelia, which inspired my emotional reaction of involuntarily watery eyes and a pout that I couldn’t control. I am who I am (read that first paragraph again to hear his repeated response).

Our dog Scout passed away in May after 15 beautiful years with us. Before her, our dogs Blake and Riel lived to 17 and 16 years. They were family. We’re dog people. It’s who we are. Could we really stop? Short answer? No.

After the shortest deliberation in our marriage on record (beyond those manipulative tactics mentioned above), after interviews and reference checks, Ophelia joined our family two weeks later. No regrets.

I just couldn’t get used to her name. She couldn’t either. It didn’t fit. A name with a Shakespearean tragedy legacy? I decided to rename her. But what? I pondered this for days. 

I wanted something Canadian, politically savvy, reflective of a strong feminine energy, but with a gentleness that I saw in her eyes (mind you, she goes from cute and cuddly to Cujo in a split second, but that’s part of puppyhood). My girl needed a special name.

Ophelia now goes by her middle name, Margot, named for my two favourite Canadian writers, Margaret Laurence and Margaret Atwood. Strong women who altered the landscape of Canadian literature and tackled complicated social topics, breaking stereotypes and paving the way for women’s voices in the northern landscape. Bonus: Margaret Laurence is buried in Manitoba and Margot’s mom was removed from there due to the floods this spring. Kismet.

Margot has sass, smarts and curiosity. The name fits. She responded immediately. This is the fate of Ophelia Margot. 

A happy ending for all.