What's in a Name?

"I named my dog 5 Miles so I can tell people I walk 5 miles every day."

Maizey by any other name is still Maizey

There are 5 daughters in my family. Like most mothers with that many kids to look after,  she often had to run through all our names before getting the one she wanted. LindaJoMaryJudyJean came out as one word. If she was really stressed she’d add pets’ names. LindaJoMaryJudyJeanHappyPepeCherokee. It was kind of funny until I started doing the same thing with my children, and I only had two to remember.  Perhaps it’s just what mothers learn to do. Trying to make everything equal, if one kid’s in trouble, they’re all in trouble. Maybe it's nothing more than a sign that the woman who once walked the floors during midnight feedings, cleaned beds covered in puke, made hundreds of plates of spaghetti, let kids lick the frosting dripping from mixer beaters and kissed too many boo boos to count had grown weary. Names were secondary to what she wanted to say. It was easier to get them out of the way in one breath.

Yesterday I caught myself calling Maizey "DoodleQuesadillaItchetuckneeDoo". Just a few of the names Maizey has acquired  while living with us.  As a puppy Maizey’s original owners named her Marla. During her stay with the Stevensons the kids changed Marla to Maizey because she was the color of light corn. Now, like a person with multiple personalities, Maizey is as Maizey does.

"Bull," for instance, is the Maizey that stubbornly butts her way into or out of any situation. Like bulls running through Pamploma, Maizey squeezes through the tiniest of openings, races across the yard, the street and our neighbor’s yard regardless of who or what is in her way.  It looks like she’s chasing a cat or squirrel. In reality she has heard the call of the wild and is running for the pure joy of running.

After her biopsy, Buddy's cage felt like a safe haven as long as the door was left open.

"Houdini" is similar to "Bull" in that it involves liberating herself from places she deems unfit. An open 2nd story window? No problem, she simply took a flying leap, landed on all fours and took off for parts unknown. A wooden door? A wire puppy cage? No problem. She just head butted and chewed until she saw the proverbial light at the bottom of the stairs and made a dash for freedom.

Although we live within driving distance of fresh water springs rising from the aquifer, where the temperature is a cool 70 degrees year round, Maizey is known as "Ichetucknee" for her constant itching due to undefined allergies. Skin? Grass? Fleas? Food? At any given time one or all of these can make poor "Itchetucknee" scratch and/or chew herself until soars appear and antibiotics are needed. Steroids were the go to cure to get hot spots under control. Unfortunately Prednisone is one of the foods cancer love best. We just have to keep the itching under control by trips to the beach, salt water baths, oatmeal shampoo and antihistamines.

Understandably, Maizey is referred to as "Thumper" because of the sound of her leg thumping on the floor during an scratching spell. If you’ve ever been around an itchy dog, you know there is also a distinctive smell, like Doritos, that goes with the territory. Thus, the name "Stinky.”

Despite of, or maybe because of, Maizey's food allergies and strict “no beef, no pork, no bacon, no fat” diet, she loves cheese, especially wrapped in a warm flour tortilla. "Quesadilla Ellington" has never met a piece of cheese she doesn’t like. She takes it as it comes -- sliced, shredded, cubed, This comes in handy when she has one of those days when she doesn’t quite feel like eating. If I wave a piece of cheese under her nose she’ll usually come around. It also helps in administering her daily dose of pain meds and anti-itch Benadryl. 

I’m not sure where the name Maizey Doodle came from. Doodle Dog, Doodle Doo, or just plain Doodle are varieties of the same. Lately it's been my favorite nom du jour. I lie down beside girl who looks more like freshly picked cotton than corn, put my arms around neck and say, “I love you Doodle Dog.” Like the child that knew who my mother was calling before she even got to the correct name, I’m confident Maizey knows who I’m talking to.

Hurricane Dog(s)

"Dogs change lives. 

Half Buddha, half Bozo, they keep us tethered to the earth and teach us to fly. 

Our dogs are our sanity keepers. "

Pam Houston

Sanity Keepers #1 and #2

Note: I've lost all track of time. This post was written right after Armageddon. I've no Internet service until today. I tried posting from Barnes and Noble only to find out nothing posted - words or photos. It was time to start over in a different frame of mind. Here goes:

Hurricane Irma began her destruction of state of Florida last Saturday. By Sunday evening we were beginning to feel the effects of teeming rainfall combined with wind gusts over 50 mph. Sheets of plywood covering the windows and doors didn’t do much to muffle the sound of battering winds. For awhile even the tree frogs' songs were drowned out. The electricity flickered on and off then, with a loud kaboom, a transformer blew somewhere nearby. We were plunged into darkness. 

When Irma left us to wreak havoc on Georgia we peeked out to survey the damage. Unlike Noah on the top of Mt. Ararat, there was no rainbow. For as far as we could see, tree limbs and Spanish moss littered the lawns and streets. A few blocks away the top of a large, hundred year old oak tree lay sprawled across the street, blocking entry and exit to our neighborhood. Electrical wires wrapped around and through its branches like Christmas lights without the colored bulbs. Thankfully we had a generator running nonstop to keep the refrigerator and freezer cold. Despite the yard debris the pool entertained the dogs and kept them cool.  By Wednesday afternoon I’d lived without electricity, hot water and cold Coke long enough. Let it be said here and now, I am no smiling Laura Ingalls Wilder able to withstand any of the fury Mother Nature threw at her. I am no Pollyanna able to find a kaleidoscopic sunny spot in dark clouds. When I discovered cat pee on my pillow, I cried “Uncle.” (Actually I cried something else.) Jack and I headed for the nearest Hampton Inn, leaving behind John, the dogs, the cats, and an army of electricians, linemen, and guys with chain saws to restore our power. 

A hot shower and air conditioning never felt so good. We turned on the TV for the first time in days to news broadcasts of demolished Caribbean Islands and a battered Cuba. Key West, Miami, and Naples look like war zones. Roads and boats and trees and houses are blown to bits. St. John River water and ocean surges caused unprecedented floods in my hometown. The water is receding to reveal what can only be called a big fat mess. I'm a whiner, but feel truly grateful to live on high ground.

But this is not a story about storms and floods. It’s a story about a crazy cancer dog who in her short life time has lived through TS Beryl (May 2012), Superstorm Sandy, (Oct. 2012), Hurricane Joaquin (Oct. 2015), TS Julia (Sept 2016), Hurricane Matthew (Sept. 2016) and now Irmageddon. For all her anxiety she knows how to weather a storm. In the past John took Maizey to the beach to see the really, big waves. This time he wisely he decided against it. So instead of chasing big puffs of stinky wind swept foam, Maizey, like me, took a lot of naps.  Except when John fed the baby squirrels. 

During the first day of clean up, John discovered a nest of 3 baby squirrels upside down in our neighbor’s yard, near a dangling electrical line. He literally saved two more babies from the jaws of another neighbor’s cat who no doubt thought God had reached down and handed him with dinner. With no parents in sight a cat carrier and shoe box became temporary homes. John, Maizey and Buddy became instant foster parents. Maizey was a little confused at first. If it looks like a squirrel and smells like a squirrel, it must be a squirrel, right? And who is the best squirrel chaser in Duval County? Why was John holding these squirrels in his hand? Having read Are You My Mother enough times I waited for the tiniest baby to open and lock his eyes on John and immediately cry “Daddy!” Luckily, Merrill Road Animal Hospital took the babies so Aunt Maizey could relax. 

Quietly and without any fanfare, it appears the "Hurricane Dog" torch passed from Maizey to Buddy. Anytime John stepped outside, Buddy followed. No rain or flying branches could keep him out of the pool. Maizey watched his antics from the safety of the garage door, steadfastly refusing Buddy's “come on, what’s a little rain” jeers. When she could no longer hold it, John coaxed her outside by holding up an umbrella so she could run outside, pee and run back in without getting drenched. Maizey only ventured outside when she determined the storm was long gone. At that point she went to work. She checked the pool and yard for the frogs, snakes and turtles that took refuge in our bushes. She dueled with the pool net, which only she sees as a threat. Under the influence of Tramadol, Maizey proved to Buddy she still has some spunk left in her. 

This has been a ten days. Things have kind of returned to normal. Hurricane season doesn't officially end until November 1. I'm not sure how huge cyclones of air and rain know when the calendar changes. I do know that the next time I hear a named storm (Maria?) sets her eyes on Florida, I'm not sticking around. Something tells me Maizey will be riding shotgun!

PS.  Thanks to all the people who helped during this storm. The governor and mayor and news people did a good job of creating enough hysteria to get people evacuated in a timely manner. First responders rescued people who didn't expect the river to overflow its banks. Animal rescuers and Lost Pets of Jacksonville did (and are doing) a remarkable job of rounding up lost and stranded pets, horse, and cows and keeping them safe. And thanks to the man who spent his son's third birthday fixing cable lines so people like me could quit complaining about the inconvenience of no Internet. Sadly, I know people who are still without electricity or cable service. There is a special place in heaven for non-complainers. 

Her Majesty's Carriage

Ed. Note. I remember before my father passed away, he liked to go for rides in the car. He sat in the passenger's seat, seatbelt tugged tight against his shrinking body. He didn't care where we went. We’d drive past places where he used to travel on his own, or check out new construction sites. Sometimes we'd go visit the memorial garden and rest a spell under the Patty tree. Sometimes we'd go to the beach, just to watch the waves. Silence sat in the air between us. It was a time for remembering, not talking. 

"Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, 

in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear.”

Dave Barry

Maizey might consider herself the Alpha dog of her pack. It is certainly true that she is the leader, the rest of us do follow along. Actually Maizey is more of a queen. Had she been born a male human in another century, her personality might have mirrored that of Henry VIII.  She enjoys being the center of attention. She hates being alone. She wants her people around at all times, willing to serve at her bark and call, morning, noon or night. She's also pretty fickle.  She easily gives her heart away to any pretty girl who happens by. She's faithful only until she sees another. If the girl is under 5 years old, however, Maizey goes into protector mode and never loses sight of her charge.

As queen, Maizey has always enjoyed riding in her carriage. Not exactly ornate, with torn leather seats and sand encrusted floor mats, John’s Chevy Silverado is as much Maizey’s as it is his. Maizey can hear the jingle of keys from any part of the house, even when she is sound asleep.  Because she started out as John’s “work” dog, Maizey is forever ready.  When John yells, "Let's go," Maizey is up for any adventure. The destination makes no difference. It’s the ride that’s important.

When the truck door opens, Maizey leaps into the passenger seat. She prefers the seat to be straight up and down, as close to the glove box as possible.  Maizey acts as both co-pilot and navigator. She knows most of John’s regular stops. When the ladies at 5 different Dunkin Donut locations see the truck coming through the line, John’s coffee and Maizey’s treat are always hot and waiting. Like any good work dog, Maizey enjoys roaming the aisles of Lowe's Warehouse with John and the other construction workers. Mostly she likes to hear her bark echo through the open space. If an attractive blonde stops next to her at a red light, Maizey flirts like a teenaged boy. When John says, "big turn," Maizey leans right or left when going around curves to keep from falling off the seat.

Taking your pet to work with you in Florida can be problematic because of the heat. John never leaves home without a pink bucket filled with ice cold water stabilized between the seats, a supply of poo bags, and a food bowl. The first thing Maizey does is dump the food into her seat so she doesn’t have to stretch when she needs a snack. It didn’t take her long to realize lying under the tailgate was always a few degrees cooler. After a romp through the waves at the beach, Maizey likes to lounge on the bed of the truck watching sand pipers and gulls. For the ride home, she hops into the back seat and takes a nap.

Tired pup after a trip to the beach

While Maizey is not showing signs of slowing down, she does need some help getting in and out of the truck. She can't hurtle into the high seats as easily as she once did. That said, once she's in position, she's ready to go.

I've found when Maizey barks at me and I can’t for the life of me figure out what she wants, all I have to do is jiggle the keys, open up my van's tail gate, help lift her hind legs over the bumper and drive to some of her favorite places --around the circle, down by the pond, past Buster's house. Silence envelops the space between us. It’s a time for remembering, not talking. 

In life, it’s not where you go - it’s who you go with.
Charles Schultz