It is possible to take something beautiful and lasting out of the heart-wrenching experience 

of seeing the animal you love move inexorably toward death. 

Jon Katz

When I started this blog 6 months ago I had no idea that I would still be writing on the last day of 2017, or that Miss Maizey would still be with us. She has slowed down for sure, but is definitely not ready to say goodbye.  Since mid-November, there have been a few scares - limps that don't look like they will heal themselves, full days of sleeping, instead of eating, drinking or peeing, and one episode of labored breathing. I admit, like Chicken Little warning that the sky is falling, I've panicked. I'd text Dr. Katie, hoping to be reassured, yet scared of what she might say. 

Waiting for Johnny to come home from work.

John on the other hand, took what appeared to be a major setback in stride. He stayed cool and calm. While Buddy, Jack and I looked on with dread, John talked Maizey through her pain. He lay on the floor next to her. He reminded me to keep things normal. Incredibly, each time, after plenty of rest, Maizey, "The Wonder Dog," rallied. She returned to her cancer-schmancer-self - trading body slams body with Buddy, chasing squirrels and digging holes in the back yard. If Maizey was a cat she would be testing the limits of her nine lives. 

Um, Grammy, I want something.
Please figure out what it is.

Sick or not, there is seldom, if any halt, in Maizey's nightly routine. Maizey sleeps soundly until John and Buddy go upstairs and Jack heads to the bedroom to read.  I settle myself in my recliner to watch TV or play computer solitaire.  Boy Cat curls into a ball of black fur on my lap. Then, at the sound of some internal (infernal?) alarm, Maizey begins barking loud enough to make my ear drums rattle.  I've tried yelling back which only makes her bark more. I've tried ignoring her which results in a 70 pound dog in my lap. While she barks at me her eyes are peeled on the back door waiting for John. When he walks in, Maizey wags her tail and acts all innocent as if to say, "Hello! What brings you downstairs? And oh by the way Grammy is ignoring me." The question remains since day one, who has trained whom?

Ashley and Ella visited for Thanksgiving. Like all of us, when they left in July they didn't think they'd see Maizey again.  It's hard to know who was happier when they walked in - Maizey or the girls.  As most Thanksgiving weekends go the days were packed with activities surrounding food, football and shopping. On Black Friday, however, during a short window of opportunity when Gpa strung lights on the Christmas tree Ella and Maizey sat on the couch together. Using one of my picture books for reference, Ella told Maizey the story of a little girl and her sick grandmother. 

 "Nobody knows when she'll die," said Ella, "right now or later."

The grandmother's eyes were closed and she couldn't open them. She'd have to go to heaven.

Then the story sort of morphed into one about Maizey.

My dog can rescue me whenever I get hurt. I was really really sick, kind of like Maizey. When Maizey was almost dead, I was very sad. Her face was really really cute. In heaven you can get whatever you want as a snack.
On the day before Ella was crying off her heart. But Maizey was still away.Her magic finger made her awake and out of heaven. She will not die today, but soon. 

Christmas Eve
Not a creature was stirring, not even Miss Maizey

Santa delivered new chew bones.

So here we are on the eve of a new year with a dog who wasn't supposed to live for 3 months. In the annals of Super dogs, there's Lassie, Rin Rin Tin, Underdog, Snoopy, the Red Baron. I can say without doubt, Maizey has reached that level of remarkability. A miracle? Maybe. But I choose to believe it's the power of love that has kept Maizey alive this long. And maybe a magic finger.