Lessons from Maizey

"It’s impossible to forget a dog that gave you so much to remember."

Live Like Roo

In the two weeks since we said goodbye to Maizey, no matter what I do something’s not right. Something’s missing. Time after time, silent tears trickle down my cheeks when I realize there is a Maizey-size hole in the room my heart. 

The physical essence of Maizey is rapidly dissipating. I spent an afternoon at the laundromat washing the various blankets and cushions where Maizey spent most of her final days. Sadly, I also washed away Maizey’s distinct wet dog smell. Her beds are empty, her stash of Nylabones and rawhide chews no longer line the fireplace stoop. Mostly there’s no barking. I never thought I’d miss those barks. The house is just too darn quiet. 

I visit Maizey’s grave every day. It might look like I’m checking the rain gauge. I’m actually talking to my girl. My head knows it’s just the shell of a white dog in that space. That the crazy part of Maizey, the part that I miss so much, runs free in a place where angels throw balls, and Milk Bones are served round the clock at the Divine Smorgasbord. My heart, however, feels less broken, when I’m near what was once Maizey’s “happy place.” 

Ella reading to Maizey and GPa*

Before Maizey, I liked dogs. Dogs have always been a part of my family. I was not, however, what you might call a "crazy dog lady." I didn’t get the whole “doggie day care, dog park, dog play date, dog Halloween parade, or dog birthday party" mentality of modern pet owners. When Maizey came to live with us, I  had to re-think my belief that a dog is just a dog. It didn’t take long to realize Maizey possessed a degree of joie de vivre not often found in other dogs.  She had an un-definable nature that had no name or description other than "Maizey." In time it felt perfectly normal to bake her birthday cakes, take her for car rides, read her bedtime stories, save her favorite blanket from the rag pile. I learned to accept her eccentricities as “quirks” to be tolerated, rather than bad habits to be broken. 

It’s been said that dogs come into our lives to teach us something. Maizey tried to teach me patience. When an 80 pound bulldog demands your attention you quickly learn that barking back doesn’t do much good. It’s easier to stop what you’re doing and try to make sense of her request. Jack learned if he waited long enough Maizey would give up his chair or his side of the bed, leaving the spot feeling the right amount of cozy. Less volatile now, more willing to show his softer side, John learned what unconditional love and loyalty feel like. 

Positioned at one end of the couch with Buddy at the other, Maizey offered on-the-job training for guarding the house by staring out the front window for any sign of possible danger, like Peg, the neighborhood watch captain and her German Shepherd, Sasha, making their daily rounds.  I imagine Maizey's instructions going something like, "Even if you don't see anything, bark your fool head off every now and then, so the humans will know that, while you may look like you're asleep, you're still on duty. Plus it will scare the bejeezus out of Grammy which is always fun."  It's true. Buddy's deep, bass WOOF makes me jump every time. Buddy has also learned to take his new job of walking John and I every night seriously.  Refusing to take no for an answer, as soon as the Jeopardy theme song plays, he is ready to go whether we are or not. He appears to have put aside his own grief to follow Maizey's mandate that every day should be a good day.

Photo by Chelsea Whiteman

Without doubt Maizey’s short life was defined by what philosophers have been promoting for years - to be present, accept life as it comes and suck the joy out of every moment. What looked like a cardboard box to us, looked like a rib bone to Maizey. Walks were more treasure hunts than strolls.  She sought out every possible jewel along the way - a turtle in the road, a dead squirrel she could pee on 5 days in a row, an owl (or strand of Spanish moss that looked like an owl) perched on a low hanging branch, people she could greet or scare (both equally delightful). To Ichituckni Ellington, a patch of freshly mown grass far surpassed a stinky animal carcass for rolling in. Just the sight of it sent her into high gear, pulling John behind her at break neck speed.  As she rocked from side to side, all four legs turned skyward, we had a glimpse of what heaven might be to a dog with sensitive skin. That crazy bull dog also relished the feel of salt water and sand in her paws. She paid little attention to the medicinal effects of the ocean. For her, the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline, while sea birds squawked overhead, was her personal call of the wild.

Even as cancer diminished her strength, Maizey made the best of every day. She set the example for all of us who loved her. Buddy greets the morning with a ball in his mouth and desire to play. Maizey’s humans do our best to follow her example. Jon Katz wrote in his blog, Bedlam Farm Journal, **“Dogs force us to be good, they challenge us to be patient and empathetic and to listen. A great dog demands that we be better people.”

Thank you Maizey, for the happiness you brought, the lessons you taught and the love you gave so freely. You were a great dog and we are better people for having known you. But I miss you like crazy and would give anything to hear you bark one more time.

Pain defines love, gives it meaning. 

Without pain, love is nothing. 

Grieving hurts, but it cleanses and purifies us and brushes up against our souls. 

It whispers to us that we received the great gift of unconditional love, 

and that does not ever die.***

Jon Katz 

Meme designed by Terri St. Cloud
* A Dog Needs a Bone by Audrey Wood could easily have been written about Maizey.
**7/30/18

***Going Home, Finding Peace When Pets Die, Jon Katz, Random House, NY, pg 62