Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light.

"As your pet ages and you sense the end may be near, 

focus your mind on the best parts of the life you shared. 

On Loyalty. Comfort. Laughter." 

Jon Katz*

. 

Let me set the stage for you. I’m heading to the car to run some errands, but I need to check my brake lights before leaving. Maizey stands in the driveway looking at something no one else can see. The neighbor’s cat sits in the street licking her private parts. My neighbor, Doris, walks toward our house carrying a bagful of fresh peaches. Jimmy, the mailman, heads in our direction. Down the street three young boys and their Dad play baseball on their front lawn. “Don’t worry, she won’t run,” says John to whoever is in hearing range, at which point, Maizey, the cancer dog, comes out of her reverie, notices the cat but not Doris (who is all of 5 feet and about 100 pounds) and takes off like a cocaine fueled Greyhound at the Orange Park race track. The cat, for all her non-chalant what-dog primping shot into another neighbor’s bushes, with Maizey, who missed Doris by a whisker’s width, right behind her. Doris, planted herself mid stride, as if struck motionless in a game of freeze tag. I yelled and joined the chase. The kids dropped their bats to watch.  

John. Yelled. At. Me! 

"She’s ok, mom."

Okay? how the hell can she be okay?

But, sure enough, once the cat was gone, Maizey hobbled home. That’s about the time Jimmy pulls up in his mail cart, puts one foot on the curb and the Amazing Maizey once again bounds out of everyone’s grasp. While I tried to catch my breath Jimmy gave Maizey a good scratch. She seemed to forget this was the same man who turns her into Cujo when he drops letters through the mail slot. Maizey's tail wagged non-stop. She may have been tired but she was happy.

With the dog finally wrangled, the cat back to a state of languid repose, the mail delivered, and warm Georgia peaches in hand, I attempted to continue on my journey. I assumed Maizey had also laid down for a nap, so I left the car door open while I took the peaches into the house and grabbed a bottle of water. 

Yup! My bad! 

By the time I returned guess who expected to go for a ride? The crazy lame dog leaped into the van’s front seat like a show horse scaling a water hazard. The missing element of this whole misadventure was a very unhappy Labrador who loves a good chase even more than Maizey. Trapped in the backyard all Buddy could do was listen to the ruckus.

A lot of people think that dogs know when they are about to die - a sixth sense left over from their pack days. Because they don’t want to slow the pack down, or cause undue distress to their humans, say believers of this theory, they often wander off to die alone.  According to https://www.cuteness.com/article/dogs-run-away-dying dogs may exhibit unusual characteristics as they near death. “Many things, such as hiding or secluding himself or even running away, may be instinctual and self-protective. Many animals have a natural instinct to hide when they are sick, injured or weak as a way to stay safe from predators. Animals who are in pain may feel vulnerable; running off is an inherent way to hide their condition.”

Wendy Smith Wilson, DMV, on the other hand writes,“dogs and cats rarely ‘die peacefully in their sleep,’ and they do not wander off in order to spare our feelings. They don't know that they're going to die--they just know that they feel really bad and that they're vulnerable, so they follow the instinct that tells them to hide.”

I’ve got a foot in both camps. But then I grew up watching Timmy and Lassie. There wasn’t much Lassie didn’t know about life in general or what constituted Timmy’s emotional well-being. In the case of the unthinkable, like cancer, I think Lassie would have licked Timmy goodbye and wandered down the dusty road without looking back or responding to Timmy’s woeful whistle. However, if Lassie were alive today, with all the advances of modern veterinary medicine,  I trust the story would have a different ending. 

All that to say, since Maizey has been hanging out in the garage, she’s developed a kind of wistful air about her. On occasion she’ll walk into the middle of the driveway and stare down the road. John thinks she might be daydreaming about walks to the pond and yearning for one more chance to chase a fox or bark at owls. He’s also speculated that she’s thinking about taking off without any fanfare. No tearful goodbyes, just going alone on her last self-walk. 

The question remains. When peg leg Maizey stands in the driveway peering into the canine unknown, is she contemplating the end of her life?

I don't believe that for one minute. In my book she has debunked the "wander off" theory. If she leaves by her own accord it’ll be at top speed or riding shotgun. Maizey will die the way she lived, on her terms. She will not go gentle into the good night. 

*Going Home Finding Peace When Pets Die, Random House, NY, pg.11