It's a Good Day to be Alive

"It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake.” 

Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Criseuda, circa 1380

Garage Slumber Party

It has been a year since John received that awful phone call from Dr. Rogowski; when, having mastered the art of keeping her emotions in check, she stated matter of factly, "Maizey has cancer." John listened intently but I’m sure all he heard was the “C” word, or maybe "aggressive" and "amputation" or maybe all three together. I didn’t see his heart break, but I saw my tough-as-a-Navy-SEAL son’s red-rimmed eyes and knew something the news was not good.

So imagine our delight every morning when he says to Maizey, “Its a good day to be alive” and she rallies from a restless slumber to meet that day head on. The tumor on her shoulder  has grown to the size of a baseball. She is lame in her right leg. She is noticeably in pain. She’s learned how to hop on three legs and tell us as accurately as any Timex watch that it’s time for another Tramadol. 

Yet, like that Timex she keeps on ticking. The same dog seemingly in a sound sleep can still rouse herself in seconds if she hears me whisper “walk.” She can still beat Buddy out the door when she hears John’s truck pull in the driveway.  She can still eat, pee and poop on a regular basis. She can still body slam Buddy out of the way of her desired chew bone. And she can still sit on the pool steps and catch a ball tossed in her direction like a frog nabbing a passing fly.

While we are grateful for all the extra time the Divine Dog Whisperer has graced us with, it’s hard not to want more. It’s become obvious that Maizey’s good days are numbered. We are on alert for any sign that it’s time to call Dr. Katie. To make up for no longer being able to ride in the truck, go to the beach or do the "big" walk around the neighborhood, we’re doing everything we can to enrich her final days. We almost never leave Maizey alone. At the slightest jingle of car keys her anxiety kicks in so we’ve been known to sneak out the front door.  Quesadilla Ellington’s meds are given wrapped in cheese. We’ve moved from processed American, to sharp cheddar to deli sliced mozzarella. If she lives long enough she’ll probably balk at Italian cheese and prefer creamy French chevre, a Bûcheron, perhaps or Chabichou, anything to mask the bitterness of the hidden pharmaceuticals. Every day, as the charcoal heats up, John rakes and molds Maizey’s favorite hole to perfection. Just when he thinks the throne is manicured to perfection, Queen Maizey digs it all up and plops her self down ("plops" being the operative word). Surrounded by a hoard of wet and chewed tennis balls, a pail of ice water and the smell of barbecued chicken legs wafting past her nose, Maizey dozes through her dog day afternoons.

There's a "boom boom coming.

In fact, sleeping is what our once active Doodle Dog does best. To accommodate her, our house resembles a canine hostel, without the cages. There is a blanket-covered orthopedic bed or pillow in every room, plus all the human furniture she can still mount. Each bed is cooled by its own fan. It is not uncommon to find a human sleeping beside her. Maizey recently started napping in the garage so there it also contains a down comforter pallet where she can a) sleep b) hear what Buddy and John are doing in the backyard or c) watch the rain. It’s sad that the dog who used to run as far and as fast as she could, usually into an unsuspecting neighbor's house, when the garage door was raised is now content to let Buddy do the running. However, I do not doubt for one minute if a dog walker passed by that she’d be up and gone in a flash.  

There were 3 in the bed until Maizey
decided it was to crowded and went to her hole

John tells me "She’s always listening." So am I. I hear her peg-leg footfalls in the middle of the night moving from one bed to another. I hear her panting next to me when she needs a midnight potty run.  I smile when I hear her snoring. I've even gotten to the place where I am grateful when she barks, because as long as she’s making noise it’s a good day to be alive. 

Good News. Bad News

"I guess you don’t really own a dog, you rent them. 

And you have to be thankful that you had a long lease."

 Joe Garagiola

The good news is Maizey does NOT have osteosarcoma, the bone-eating, fast-moving, one-month-to-live kind of cancer. 

The bad news is she still has cancer. She is still terminal. 

The good news, her lease has been extended.

The bad news is we have no way of knowing for how long. 

On Jan. 18, at Dr. Katie’s prompting, John took Maizey back to Merrill Road Animal Clinic for new x-rays. It was time to get a bird’s eye view of the tumor, instead of guessing. It’s not that we don’t believe in miracles, or have grateful hearts that she’s lived longer than anyone predicted, but clearly things have not progressed as expected.  Since Dr. Rogowski was the first to spot the cancer, an almost too small to see gray spot, we opted to go back to square one instead of going to (and incurring the cost of) a different specialist. 

Ready or not, Maizey is here!

Maizey likes to announce herself when she walks into a place. The Merril Road staff knows to have a room ready when she arrives. Maizey believes she is getting special treatment, when, in fact, they are trying to squelch her enthusiasm. In the sparsely appointed office covered in easy to clean tile, Maizey’s barks ricochet off the walls. It’s unnerving to the other patients and their owners. Hell, it's unnerving to me. As we wait for an unobstructed path (no dogs in sight) to the x-ray room, Maizey paces around, then plops herself down under the only seat in the room. John and I fidget. Maybe ignorance is bliss.  Do we really want to see a giant hole in Maizey’s shoulder? Even though I’ve been the one pushing for this, I begin to have second thoughts. I imagine a glum Dr. Rogowski, walking in the room, carrying a sheet of black film that she snaps into an old timey light box. In that moment I want to squeeze my eyes shut, and stick my fingers in my ears so I can’t hear anything that’s being said.

The reality was, as usual, much less dramatic. Doctor Rogowski appeared concerned, but smiling. It can't be too bad if someone talking about cancer smiles, right? We looked at digitized radiographs on her I-pad. Instead of a massive tumor, Maizey’s shoulder looks like it’s been covered in a fine lace doily. Yes, the cancer has grown, but it has not (and typically won’t) cross the joint. It has not metastasized to her lungs. We are unabashedly relieved. We are grateful. At the same time we are scratching our heads, wondering about the conversations we had back in May about amputation, chemo, and a short life span. Something is not adding up.

Sometimes in life you have to push the reset button. John found the original paperwork from the orthopedic surgeon. Nowhere did it state that Maizey has OSTEO sarcoma. Instead the diagnosis is “undifferentiated sarcoma.” WTF? In the end, cancer is cancer. No point in looking back. We’ve been blessed with way more time than we ever thought we’d have. The lesson here is to take each day as it comes, not to worry so much about a future that may turn out different from what you expected.

In the last month Maizey, the dog who walks with an obvious limp and somedays cannot put any weight on her right leg,  has jumped over the back fence twice, chased too many squirrels to count, dug a hole half-way to China, gone swimming, convinced “Grammy” to hand feed her and body-slammed her brother on a regular basis. She does not have the stamina she once had, and her recovery time - lying on the floor panting like she just ran a marathon - is longer. She’s started this thing where she licks Buddy’s face until he looks up at me with eyes that say, “mooom, make her stop.” The other day, she hopped up in my lap and began licking me. Dr. Katie says it’s a show of dominance. As if I didn’t already know she’s the Alpha dog, the Queen Bee, the Top Banana, the Grand Poobah and the Big Cheese all wrapped in one crazy, lovable bull dog.

To Walk or Not to Walk

"Movement is a medicine for creating change in a person's physical, emotional and mental states." 
CarolWelch

Maizey is pretty quiet during the day. Unless the a dog walker goes by or the mailman knocks on the door, she doesn't do much barking. But come 8:30 when the dishes are done and all I want to do is put my feet up and relax, Maizey, by some internal clock, decides it is time to bark.

"She's trying to tell you something," says John, who claims to be able to read her body language and facial expressions. He gives me no clue as to what she wants ... to pee? a snack? to play? It all sounds the same to me. L.O.U.D. Tonight when she starts I blame it on the super, blue, wolf moon shining so bright in the night sky. 

"She wants a walk," John says as he stokes the fire. The fire I'd much prefer to sit next to than go out into the coldest night of the season.

A walk? Isn't she still on restriction?

Following a limping spell, we tried to keep her quiet.  We've learned, however, it's not easy to keep a big dog down, even if she has cancer. Unlike me, she can only take so much lying around in front of a fire, being catered to. She probably does need some controlled exercise, as opposed to body slamming her brother.  Tonight, with temperatures in the 20's, gimpy leg or not, Maizey demands fresh air and exercise.

What Maizey wants, Maizey gets. Partly because she's sick, partly because she's the most spoiled dog in the universe.  Johnny and I dig through our closets for hats, gloves and scarves. Buddy dons Maizey's pink fleece because we don't want to jostle her shoulder into it. He's a little embarrassed to look like such a girly boy, but, truth be told, Buddy will do or wear just about anything if it means going for a walk. The only piece of warm clothing left for Maizey is a piece of fleece along the lines of an"infinity scarf." Not sure at first if she likes it, a blast of cold air convinces her it'll be okay. 

In all honesty it took us longer to get dressed than it did to walk. There's a fine line between stretching stiff legs and irritating a shoulder peppered with osteosarcoma. In the words of Goldilocks, a walk to the pond and back was 'just right."

Back home the fire crackles. I'm wrapped in my blanket. Maizey is sound asleep. The kind of sleep where I have to put my hand on her chest to make sure she's still breathing.

The fact that when Maizey walks I walk is not lost on me. That I feel better after a walk, even a short walk.  I wonder if Maizey's hounding barking could be her way of taking care of me like I take care of her. Could the urgency of her barking be because she wants to make sure I know how to listen for owl calls, check the pond for turtles and frogs, follow the scent of a fox, enjoy the night air, decide which pile of leaves needs to be peed on?  Could she know there's not much time left and she wants to make sure I've learned to appreciate a good walk the way she does? Or does she bark because that's how dogs say, "Come on Grammy, there's a big full moon outside. Let's go look at it."

I have to admit it was a nice walk.

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.

“ I wonder if, within that brain of hers, she realizes that she makes me proud. 

I wonder if she understands love. I wonder if she knows what today is.

Probably not. "

Sean Dietrich

 Sean of the South  8/18

Maizey singing Happy Birthday to herself. (Sorry it's blurry)

Today, against all odds, Maizey turned 6 years old.

Birthday Schmirthday! Get this thing off me!

When we sat in the specialty vet’s office in May it never occurred to us that she’d be celebrating another birthday. Hell, we weren’t sure she’d live through the summer.

For me?

But live she did does. She may be six years old, but this week she's been acting like a hole-digging, squirrel-chasing, rope-tugging, ball-catching puppy. I have come to believe that having a back yard covered in dirt instead of grass is as good as anything a doctor can prescribe to make a dog and her human forget all about cancer.

So at the start of the month made for gratitude, today I thank the One who created our crazy, white bulldog. 

Happy Birthday, Maizey, I love you.

Lap of Love -- It Takes A Village, Part 4

"Veterinary hospice is not about living longer, but about living better during the end."

Dr. Mary Gardner

(Co-Founder of Lap of Love Veterinary Hospice and In-Home Euthanasia, Inc.) 

A cold front moved in yesterday. Happy that it was no longer too hot for her, Maizey spent the afternoon in the yard with John and Buddy. 

“Come look at your dog,” motioned John through the open window. 


My dog? She’s only my dog when she’s being bad. I grabbed my camera to check things out. Cancer-stricken Maizey, who is supposedly hobbled by a painful shoulder, decided to dig a 2 dog-sized hole which provided the perfect hunting ground for snakies, aka lizards. At her last visit Dr. Katie prescribed a bland diet of chicken and kibble to keep Maizey's itching at bay.  Today that same dog had a lunch of dirt, worms and the tail a real snake (which she promptly threw up). This meal, convinced John, once and for all, that the renowned trainer who once said Maizey could never survive in the wild was wrong. 

John wants me to watch videos of what it could look like when Maizey begins to decline.  I don’t want to. I’d much rather watch that goofy dog's inner puppy play.  Which brings me to one of the most important parts of our Maizey support system -- our village.

After carefully examining all his options, John decided in home hospice and palliative care were the best ways to treat Maizey’s cancer.

"Founded in 2009 by Dr. Dani McVety and Dr. Mary Gardner, Lap of Love Veterinary Hospice and In Home Euthanasia is a network of veterinarians around the country whose goal is to empower every owner to care for their geriatric pets. Our philosophy centers around the human-animal bond and the need for that bond to be as undisturbed as possible during this most difficult time." lapoflove.com  

I'm a firm believer in hospice care for humans.  Hospice doctors, nurses, and caregivers have made my experiences nothing but positive. Still we* had no idea what to expect when we made an appointment for a hospice consultation. All we knew about Jacksonville’s Lap of Love came from the calm voice on the other end of the phone. A voice that assured me when I started crying, I'd called the right place. I don’t think I’m talking out of turn by saying that I’m easily swayed by kind words. John, on the other hand, is more of a I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it kind of guy. For obvious reasons, both of us were a tad anxious until the doctor arrived.

"Lap of Love is honored to have some of the most compassionate and empathetic vets working with us." lapoflove.com

A petite woman with a head full of riotous curls corralled in a Scrunchie, Dr. Katelyn "Katie" Stender walked in the back door like an old friend coming for coffee. Before she could even put her old-fashioned medical bag on the kitchen table she was greeted by two barking dogs galloping towards her.  What may look and feel like a stampede of wild buffalo is actually a game to see who can say hello first.  It can be somewhat intimidating and doesn’t say much for the amount of time and money spent on training.  Dr. Katie didn’t blink an eye. She dropped to the floor with her arms open to embrace both Maizey and Buddy. She traded stiff how-do-you-dos and handshakes for undignified sniffs and slobbery kisses. She gave no hint of the sad reason she was here. No, "oh poor Maizey." Her enthusiastic greeting was more like finally meeting a long lost relative, "Maizey, it's so good to see you." 

Any fears we might have had faded. The dogs quickly lost interest in the visitor for most of the consultation, but Dr.Katie cheerfully remained on the un-mopped kitchen floor. White dog hairs and un-defined crumbs attached themselves to her black leggings already baptized with Buddy slime.

After the initial greeting, Maizey decided to be coy. She circled through the den and kitchen to make sure Dr. Katie was still interested in her, but didn’t care much for being examined. With the skill of someone who has done it a thousand times, Dr. Katie slipped on her stethoscope, listened to Maizey’s heart and lungs, palpated Maizey’s cancerous shoulder and never missed a word John said. All this with jealous Buddy wanting his fair share of attention. As well as being a multi-tasker, Dr. Katie is smart, compassionate, present, inquisitive, and wears comfortable shoes festooned with little cat faces. The mom of two cats and a dog, this is a woman who takes her work seriously. 

It must be really hard to spend your days euthanizing beloved pets. So I had to ask, how does someone get into this line of work?

Dr. Katie gave up the idea of being a human doctor in her junior year at the University of FL and graduated with a degree in health science and public health. When a good friend suggested that she become a veterinarian, Dr. Katie went back to school to do just that. As a small town vet, she treated dogs, cats, and even a raccoon or two.

Dr. Katie’s first in-home euthanasia was for her mother-in-law’s kitty. When a friend asked if she’d do the same for her dog, Dr. Katie readily agreed. After determining the time was right, the three strolled outside to a beautiful, stress-free environment. Under a tree with the sun setting in the background was the perfect place to say a final farewell.  In that moment Dr. Katie knew this was what she was “meant to do.”  

Not long after that discovery, Dr. Katie started Jacksonville's Lap of Love. Along with her Lap of Love co-workers, Dr. Katie works in harmony with other area veterinarians. Although 95% of her appointments are euthanasias, Dr. Katie does not find the work draining. "Being able to share such a sacred moment with families as they said goodbye to their dearest companion is, simply, an honor." Dr. Katie especially loves getting a call after a difficult time to come meet a family’s new puppy or kitten. 

Call me nosy, but I had to know about that leather bag. I figured from the looks of its scarred leather the bag was a family heirloom — passed down, perhaps, through generations of family doctors. Nope. Dr. Katie gifted it to herself upon graduation from veterinary school. In only five years that bag has traveled across the state of Florida, into and out of the homes of grieving pet owners and taken on a patina of warm maple syrup. But Dr. Katie doesn't focus on the bag's weathered exterior.  Instead, as with a sick or aging patient, she treasures the gift it represents. Life worn smooth by love. 

I don’t know what it might have been like if John had opted for amputation and chemotherapy. Sure, we would have made it work. But I’m glad we didn't have to. I'm glad he chose Lap of Love. We haven't gotten to the hard part yet, but I have no doubt Maizey will be in good hands when the time comes to say goodbye. And those angel wings Dr. Katie talks about? I'm pretty sure the Divine Veterinarian in the sky sent Dr. Katie to earth with her very own set of wings. 

* I use the plural pronoun because even though John has the final say in all things Maizey, I'm copilot and navigator on this trip.

P.S. Shameless Public Service Announcement:
Lap of Love can be found in 30 states across the country. I can't say enough about this organization. I hope it never does, but if the need should ever occur that you need their services you can check them out here.

What A Difference A Day Makes

"... when we adopt a dog or any pet, 

we know it is going to eventually say goodbye, but we still do it. 

And we do it for one reason. 

They bring so much joy and optimism and happiness. 

They attack every moment of every day with that attitude." 

Bruce Cameron

Maizey continues to be an enigma, leaving us all, including the hospice doc, scratching our heads and wondering if she really does have cancer. At least once a day she puts Buddy in his place by besting him at a game of tug o’ war. If she can last long enough to wear him out, she counts it as a win, then lies down on the rug for a rest.herself. Her stamina has decreased but her spirit is as strong as ever.

If Maizey gets a bath, I want one too.

Early on in his relationship with Maizey, John learned she has allergies. After several trips to specialty vets, rounds of steroids and antibiotics, and trial and error, it’s still unclear what exactly she’s allergic to. Beef products and cat poo are definitely triggers. But oh how she loves those treats.  Because he thought Maizey only had a couple months to live, John decided he’d give her specialty cut steaks from the Public butcher.  Of course, we’re happy that the silly dog is still with us, but the steaks caused her to itch like crazy.  One of the downsides of outliving all life expectancy predictions is going back to a bland diet of kibble and chicken. No more rawhides. No more beef stroganoff. Even worse, a daily bath is in order until her skin settles down. 

Besides itchy skin, Doodle has a quarter sized hot spot on her tail. In order to lick it, she has to turn sideways and upside down. In doing so, she has developed a rug burn on the very tip of her nose. John has added Rudolph to her list of nicknames. 

Dr. Katie came by this week to see the miracle dog for herself. Of course, she was almost trampled by the dynamic duo, Buddy and Maizey running full speed to greet her. Buddy quickly discovered he was not the center of attention. Not to his 2nd child liking, he pulled out all the stops to gain Top Dog honors. First he tried the simple technique of looking cute. Next he offered to share his wet, stinky "la la" (Buddy's version of Linus's blanket) with the doctor. When all that failed, he jumped in Dr. Katie’s lap and gave her a big slobbery dog French kiss.  Maizey, on the other hand, hung back, played hard to get. But she watched every move Dr. Katie made. Finally she got close enough for a hands on examination. There’s no discernible mass growing, or noticeable pain while being poked and prodded.  Against all odds, Maizey’s terminal condition is progressing very slowly. That’s not to say something couldn’t change overnight.

And change it did. The next day, poor Maizey began limping. She didn’t want to put any weight on her paw and had a look in her sad brown eyes that said, “I don’t feel so hot.” Even with pain medication it was easy to see she hurt. John is pretty sure, osteosarcoma is not the culprit. Either she played too hard or slipped on the wood floors hopping out of bed. Still, it’s a foretaste of what is to come. None of us like it. 

The good news is that the death knell has not yet sounded. If Maizey makes it to the six month after diagnosis mark, she’ll get an X-ray for Christmas. That will tell a better story. For now, we watch and wait. We get down on the floor and lie beside her while she sleeps. We massage her joints and whisper "there, there" in her ear. We wrap her pain meds in cheese and hand feed them to her. We laugh at her ability to go from sleeping sick dog to alert protective dog in less than a nano second when she hears a UPS truck pass by. We don't let her see us cry. 

And we say prayers of gratitude to the Big Ball Thrower in the Sky for the extra time we have been given with our crazy Maizey.               

It Takes a Village Part 3

It’s one thing to make a picture of what a person looks like, 

it’s another thing to make a portrait of who they are.”

Paul Caponigro

 Maizey
September, 2017

One picture is never enough has been a constant theme in my family since my father went through his photography phase. Long before selfies became the norm, my father used his daughters as models. At some point on every birthday and Christmas we were posed on the burgundy vinyl ottoman for a series of photographs, usually in a slide format. Like the marks on the wall that told how tall each of us was growing, Dad’s photos were the measuring stick of our lives. A couple times a year he’d pull out boxes of slides and hang the glass encrusted screen in the living room while mom popped corn. Then we’d all gather around and watch picture after picture after picture of the people and places that defined our family. Mom with a red hibiscus behind her ear. Jo marching in the poise parade. Me dressed as a reindeer for a nursery school production. Five girls in red velvet beside a Christmas tree. The slides also showed a progression of the family pets. Rusty, the brown-eyed Cocker Spaniel, Lady the German Shepherd and Cherokee the Beagle. We remembered where we lived by the dog in the photo. 

Dad passed his love of photography down through three generations. “Say whiskey” is as much a part of our family vocabulary as grace before dinner.  My favorite bit of home decor is the painted family tree on the wall in the dinning room, adorned with photographs. 

Therefore it’s no surprise that when it comes to photographs of Maizey there are hundreds. Maizey at the beach, in the truck, in the pool. Sleeping Maizey. Playing Maizey.  Maizey with John, with Ella, with Ashley, with Buddy.  John’s computer is full of pictures of his soul mutt. Yet he decided he wants something more like a portrait, something that captures the very essence of Maizey. Before Maizey got sick I wouldn’t have thought this was necessary. A nice Shutterfly book would suffice.  Who, besides the Queen of England, needs a portrait hanging over the fireplace while she’s still alive?

I also thought she’d be around for a much longer time. I decided a framed picture of Maizey might be nice. So I went on a search for a pet photographer and decided on Chelsea Whiteman. I liked Chelsea’s work, but mostly I went with my gut. Something told me she was the right one.  We set up an appointment to meet at Hannah Park, Maizey’s favorite beach. The only problem proved to be the dark and gloomy nor’ eastern blowing in ahead of Hurricane Irma. We re-scheduled three times. Finally John and Chelsea decided they’d “make it work," and off we went.  Queen Maizey sat in the front seat of the truck wearing a red bandana. This would either be a lot of fun or a big fiasco. 

When we got to the beach, gray clouds hovered overhead. A light mist fell. Maizey didn’t care. While John and I and Chelsea and her assistant/fiancee Dylan introduced ourselves and talked about where to start, Maizey followed her standard beach procedure, three poops one right after the other as soon as her paws hit the sand. Then, as if hearing the siren song of the sea, she raced towards the ocean. John, did his very best to keep a hold on the leash as she pulled him behind her. I should have whipped out my phone and taken a video. I’m just not fast enough. Good thing Chelsea is.  With Dylan holding an umbrella in an attempt to keep the camera lens dry, Chelsea got right to work. Maizey is no Sports Illustrated model. She presented a few challenges. One, she doesn’t like cameras. Two, she’d really rather go where she wants to go, not where she’s told to go. And three, Maizey is easily distracted.  

Two weeks later, we got a peek at the photos. Yes, there are some shots of a bullheaded Bulldog being uncooperative. But there are also some fantastic pictures of Maizey being Maizey and the relationship she has with John.

If you are in Jacksonville, and looking for a photographer, I highly recommend Chelsea. Her specialty is capturing those moments you want to always remember. More than that she’s dog lover. She understood from the get go what Maizey means to John. She knew we wanted to get pictures of Maizey while she was still active, not sick. Dark clouds be damned. She came to the shoot with a vision. 

A graduate of the University of North Florida, Chelsea started taking pictures with a point and shoot camera as a kid. She enjoyed capturing the beauty of the surroundings while on family vacations. As her skills improved she began “dabbling in self-portraiture” where she learned a lot about lighting and editing. It wasn’t long before enlisted her fiancee, brother, father and his dog, Moose, as “subjects.”  Chelsea never turned down an opportunity to take pictures. She tried it all, engagements, weddings, pets, head shots, real estate photos. “With the exception of sports photography I enjoyed all of it,” she said. 

Chelsea realized that pet photography was something she wanted to pursue after spending time with a couple and their three dogs - a chihuahua and two golden labs. One of the labs, four month old Sophia, had been diagnosed with kidney disease and not expected to live very long. Wanting to capture Sophia’s sweet spirit running and playing at the beach, became as important to Chelsea as Sophia’s owners.

"Posed sessions with props have their place,” says Chelsea. "But there’s something so genuine about lifestyle sessions that let people and animals just “be” themselves."

Chelsea admits the hardest part of photographing pets is ending the session. “I have so much fun during pet photography sessions that I have a hard time stopping, putting down the camera, and saying goodbye to the wonderful pets I get to work with.”  

Sometimes people come into your life at just the right moment and offer you the gift of their presence. Sure we’ve got more pictures of Maizey that we know what to do with. But the time spent with this young, energetic, lover of dogs and babies, was more than just a photo shoot. For me it was a chance to see Maizey playing in the surf like she's healthy and full of life, not cancer. The pictures also tell the love story of a man and his dog. Thanks Chelsea, you gave us a gift that can never be replaced.