Maxi's Secrets

by Lynn Plourde

  All I could say was something my mom sometimes says: “Who’d have thunk it?”

  Rory just snorted.

  • • •

  SECRET #44

  Life is not only full of little Minny surprises, but big Oaf surprises too.

  CHAPTER 45

  THE NEXT DAY, Mom took Maxi to the vet’s. I tried to convince her I should stay home and go with them, but she said, “I got this.”

  Dad and I went to school. I knew Abby wouldn’t be there. When Rory and I had checked on her the day before, she was doing better, but still needed to stay off her ankle a few more days. Crutches and blindness were not a good mix.

  Too bad Abby missed school because all everyone was talking about was Abby getting lost (or maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to be the center of attention). Since she wasn’t there, Rory and I got a lot of the attention and questions. Dad even gave an update over the intercom during morning announcements.

  At lunch, Carver proudly showed off a copy of the newspaper with the article about the rescue and a couple of photos. He’d circled the photo where the reporter was interviewing him plus the two places in the article that quoted him. He said, “I brought extra copies for you and Abby, Timminy. Can you bring her a copy?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to keep a straight face as I saw the copies for Abby and me also had the references to Carver circled and highlighted—so we wouldn’t miss him.

  Lunch was finishing when Dad showed up. “Come with me, Timminy.” He looked serious, too serious. I followed him and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Just grab your coat. We’ll talk in the car.”

  “We’re leaving? You’re leaving? You’ve never missed a minute of school.”

  “Well, the place will have to survive without me for the afternoon. Come on.”

  “Should I bring my books?”

  Dad shook his head. “Just your coat.”

  Man, he was freaking me out. Freaking me out by what he didn’t say.

  When I jumped into the car, I said, “Tell me. Is it Mom?”

  “No.”

  “Maxi?”

  He nodded as a single tear trickled down his cheek. He wiped it fast, not wanting me to see it, but I did and it was too late to take back that tear. Too late to make everything okay again.

  Dad shot straight with me then. “Your mother got back from the vet’s. Maxi’s limping—it’s not from an injury. It’s bone cancer. We’re going to take her to Portland now for a second opinion.”

  I turned my head to the window. I wasn’t sure how Dad had limited himself to one tear, ’cause my eyes gushed. “Not Maxi. It’s not fair.” I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder, but he didn’t say anything.

  There wasn’t anything he could say.

  The rest of the day was a blur or maybe blurry as my eyes wouldn’t dry up.

  We went to Portland to see a specialist vet who confirmed Maxi had osteosarcoma. That fancy word didn’t change anything. It was still bone cancer.

  Pieces of conversation tried to push through my fog …

  “Yes, it’s unusual for a dog so young to have bone cancer, but not unheard of in giant breeds.”

  “It’s in her left hind leg and has moved to her lungs, too, so there’s no real treatment.”

  “The cancer will destroy her bones from the inside out until she can’t walk anymore.”

  “Yes, it hurts. And the pain will get worse over time.”

  “You’ll know when it’s time. She has weeks. If you’re lucky, maybe a few months.”

  Maxi was sleeping on the ride back from Portland after the medicine they’d given her to keep her still for the X-rays and biopsy. I held on to her the whole way, as tight as I could without hurting her. And it’s a good thing she had lots of thick fur, to absorb lots of tears.

  When we got home, I had an email from Abby. Devon had called and told her I’d left school early, and she wanted to know what was going on.

  I told my parents, “Sit with Maxi while I go tell Abby.”

  Dad said, “I can go tell the Winslows.”

  “No, I need to.”

  Mom said, “Want one of us to go with you?”

  “No, please sit with Maxi until I get back.”

  And that’s what they did.

  While I did what I did.

  And what Abby did was cry. And cry some more.

  “I need to get back to Maxi. But I wanted you to know, Abby.”

  “This stinks,” said Abby, “but I’m glad you’re the one who told me.”

  • • •

  SECRET #45

  The bad stuff, like the good stuff, needs to be shared.

  CHAPTER 46

  I LET THE NEWS about Maxi settle in for a few days before I told anyone else. Although everyone knew something was wrong.

  “You sick?”

  “Worried about Abby? She’ll be back at school any day.”

  “Did someone shut you in a locker again?”

  I just shrugged each time. I ate alone with a book at lunch—staring at the page, not reading. Carver came and sat with me, but he didn’t say anything (maybe he was more aware than I gave him credit for). He just read a book. Rory nodded at me whenever he saw me, but he seemed to know I needed space.

  What I really wanted was to stay home with Maxi. But my parents were right; I couldn’t stay home with her for weeks. They agreed when things got nearer the end, we’d take turns staying with her.

  I did stay home with her whenever I wasn’t in school. And Abby came over to visit us most days. The vet had said we should make sure Maxi took it easy as much as possible so as not to risk fracturing her leg with the cancer.

  When Rory heard what was going on, he came right over. Man, the big guy was crushed.

  “Not Maxi!” he yelled. “We need a second opinion.”

  “We already got a second opinion,” I said.

  “Then a third one.”

  “It won’t change anything, Rory. It is what it is. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Nothing!

  So that’s what I did—nothing! Put one foot in front of the other each day.

  • • •

  “Timminy, I know you’re sad about Maxi,” Abby said to me one afternoon. “I am too. But Maxi needs more than a zombie Timminy for the rest of her life.”

  “Easy for you to say, Abby.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. You have your guide dog coming. And all I have to look forward to is a dead dog. Heck, Abby, why’d you make me read all those dead dog books anyway? Marley, Sounder, Old Yeller—they all died. And now I get a real dead dog, not just one in a book. Thanks.”

  Abby didn’t say anything.

  “What’s the matter? Hard to face the truth?”

  “No, it’s hard for you to face the truth, Timminy.”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.”

  She did shut up. Then stared at me. I know she’s blind and can’t really stare. But she did. The whites of her eyes froze in place. It felt like ghost eyes looking right at me. Maxi would soon be a ghost just like those eyes.

  “Abby, I hate you.”

  I gasped. I didn’t mean that, but it popped out.

  “I hate everybody.”

  “Let it out,” Abby said.

  “I can’t,” I cried. “If I let it out, I don’t know if I’ll have anything left inside. My heart’s already been ripped out. What happens when Maxi is dead for real, and I don’t have any heart left to feel with? This STINKS! My life STINKS! Maxi’s dying STINKS.”

  I screamed and screamed and screamed until I was all screamed out.

  Abby was still there.

  “Feel a little better?” she asked.

  “No!”

  “So keep screaming.”

  I tried. “It’s NOT, NOT, NOT, NOT, NOT … FAIR!”

  Then I sobbed and sobbed.

  And Abby was still there.

  I wiped my eyes with both hands, but my face was still wet. “W
hy are you still here listening?” I asked. “Don’t you want to tell me to shut my face and stop feeling sorry for myself? You’ve always been good at that, Abby.”

  Abby reached out to wipe some of the tears off my face, tears she couldn’t see, but she could feel even though I was the one crying them. She said, “I’m here because I’m your friend. And this time, Timminy, you have every right to feel sorry for yourself because Maxi is dying and that STINKS!”

  Together we yelled, “STINKS! STINKS! STINKS! STINKS! STINKS!”

  It felt like something inside me burst, or maybe it was more that it had released and I didn’t have to hold things in anymore.

  I sighed. And Abby sat with me in my silence.

  My breathing calmed.

  My heart slowed.

  My tears dried.

  I sighed once more and said, “Abby, it makes no sense. How can one dog have so much stupid bad luck? Deaf, and now cancer. It’s not fair.”

  Abby reached for my arm, found it, and held on. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. But another question is … How can one dog who’s deaf and has cancer have such stupid good luck to find you out of all the boys in the world to be her boy?”

  I stared at Abby, then whispered, “You’re half right. I’m the one with stupid good luck to have found Maxi. No matter for how long.”

  So that’s what I decided to do that day and every day. Hang on to Maxi and our stupid good luck.

  • • •

  SECRET #46

  Hold on to the good parts for as long as you can.

  CHAPTER 47

  MAXI SEEMED BETTER, happier too, once I stopped acting like she was already dead. She’d be dead sooner than was fair, sooner than I wanted. Heck, we’d all be dead someday. But we weren’t dead now. We were alive—even Maxi. It was time to live.

  And we did.

  I still was sad and angry at times, but not all the time. Not even most of the time.

  After a blizzard when we had a day off from school, we made an igloo with snow and water. We packed it in, dug it out, shaped it. Rory was our construction foreman, since he’d made one before. It was big enough for all of us to get in at once. Everyone had to bend over inside since the ceiling was low, except for Maxi and me. We stood tall and proud and made the others jealous.

  We wanted an igloo sleepover since it was surprisingly warm inside. But the Boss wouldn’t hear of it and used Maxi as her excuse: “Maxi’s bones ache enough without having to sleep on cold, hard-packed snow.” The Boss won that one.

  Actually, Maxi won that one. I didn’t want to spend a single night away from her. We’d figured out heat did make Maxi feel better. So we heated rice bags for her to snuggle with when she crawled in bed and under the covers with me. When she was on her own dog bed, we tucked a fuzzy fleece blanket around her to help keep her warm.

  Every Friday night we had a pizza party. At first, Maxi walked around the room from person to person flashing her puppy-dog eyes to get sympathy, but mostly to get crusts, everyone’s pizza crusts. Later, when it was harder for her to walk, we’d put her bed in the middle of the room and we’d all sit in a circle around her and bring her our pizza crusts so she didn’t have to get up. (And don’t tell Mom, but I have the feeling she knew all along that Maxi got more than crusts—pepperoni, ham, bacon, and cheese too. She must have gotten lots of cheese ’cause her Friday-night after-pizza-party farts were the stinkiest evah—as Abby said).

  For Christmas, we spoiled Maxi at a doggie spa. When she was finished, she looked like a beanbag chair made of dandelion fuzz wearing a big red bow. She was so pretty we took lots of family photos of her first, her only Christmas. Rory was in charge of the photos. Dad and some neighbors had hired him to help shovel snow—so Rory had saved enough money to buy that camera and lens he’d wanted.

  He took photos of Maxi in front of our Christmas tree, sitting next to her Christmas stocking hanging from the mantel, plus outside on top of a big snow bank—Queen of the Mountain! Rory carried her up. She barked like crazy up on top as if to say, “I’m the BOSS now, Mama Harris—take that!”

  The best photo was one of Rory, Maxi, and me. And Abby took it! Rory had set up his camera on top of a stool (the best tripod he could find). He’d shown Abby hand over hand which button to push and how to squeeze it slowly so it would auto-focus. He told Abby he’d snap his fingers when we were ready and then all she had to do was push the button. She did. Just one take. And when we saw it uploaded onto my computer, we agreed it was the best photo of the whole shoot—perfect expressions, all looking at the camera, and centered just so. We ribbed Abby that instead of a librarian she could become the world’s most famous blind photographer.

  Rory took more photos whenever he came over (and he came over a lot), but my favorite photos were taken in the spring. Maxi was in more pain and having a harder time getting around. But one day, on the first really nice spring day, Maxi seemed so happy—like she was a puppy again. She found the last small patch of snow on the lawn and squatted and peed on it as if to say, “Take that, winter!”

  Then she limped from smell to smell on the lawn and buried her snout deep each time as if the smell of mud was the best smell in the world. But then she found a better one, and finally the best one. She rubbed her head, her neck, and then rolled in it to savor the smell. But when she stood up, I saw it was more than a smell.

  “Ew! What did you get into, Maxi?” I rubbed her fur to remove the greenish-brown spots, but they seemed to explode and smear all over.

  “Ew! It’s the stinkiest smell!” I looked at my hands and at Maxi and stepped back. Then she went back to sniffing and rolling in it, so delighted and proud of herself.

  Rory, who had been clicking photo after photo of Maxi, burst out laughing. “Jackpot, Maxi!” he said.

  Abby was there too. “What is it? A skunk?”

  “Ew! It doesn’t smell like a skunk—it’s worse than a skunk. Here, smell.” I went over to Abby and stuck my hands in front of her face.

  “Ew! Ew! Ew!” She gagged.

  Rory was still laughing, but snap-snapping photos at the same time—of my hands, and Abby’s reaction, and Maxi as she tried to bury herself in that greenish-brown stinky sludge.

  I ran at Rory with my slimy hands and yelled, “Stop laughing. Stop taking pictures. Help us. What the heck is this? If you don’t help, I’m gonna rub this through your hair.”

  Rory laughed louder than ever. “Luckily you can’t reach my hair without a stepladder, Minny. And it’s a little poop.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “You got yourself some wild turkey poop! A dime-sized plop can spread to the size of a watermelon if you touch it, and it’s stinkier than a whole gym full of babies with dirty diapers.”

  Abby burst out laughing, and eventually I did too. And Maxi kept rolling in the stuff while Rory took photos. For once the Beast of the East didn’t come to my rescue. I had to get out the washtub and hose and suds Maxi up before my parents got home. I wouldn’t let Abby help since she couldn’t see where the turkey poop was. Rory didn’t lift a finger to help, but he captured it all on film.

  • • •

  SECRET #47

  When life gives you a pile of poop, you’re gonna get dirty—so you may as well roll with it.

  CHAPTER 48

  THERE WERE LOTS of signs from Maxi that it was getting nearer the end.

  We had to move my mattress to the floor since she couldn’t jump up on it anymore.

  Her back legs started to give out.

  There were days when she wouldn’t eat at all.

  I still wasn’t sure when we’d be sure. Vets and people we knew, who’d had their pets put down, said, “You’ll just know.”

  But I wasn’t sure I’d let myself know. And my parents wanted it to be my decision. But, heck, I was a kid, a little kid. I wasn’t ready to play God. So I watched Maxi, looking into her eyes, waiting for her to decide, for her to tell me it was time.

  And, finally, she did.<
br />
  She could barely climb the stairs up to my bedroom. But she wanted to. She needed to. It was her job to guard me at night. Dad and I helped her up by standing behind her on the stairs and lifting her backside so she could go up a step at a time. But one night her front legs gave out too. Somehow we made it up.

  Maxi slept so soundly that night, the best in weeks. The next morning she stood at the top of the stairs and knew she couldn’t get down. We knew helping her down was more dangerous than helping her up. She weighed almost ninety-five pounds.

  She couldn’t stay upstairs all day—even if I stayed home with her. We called Rory, and he came over to help Dad carry her downstairs—one holding her in front and the other in back. Maxi didn’t squirm. She seemed to know they were helping her. I could see the pain in her eyes.

  She hurt.

  All the way to her bones.

  Even her pride.

  Every inch.

  She hurt.

  I held my hand up when they got to the bottom of the stairs and said, “Load her in the car. It’s time.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Dad.

  “I’m not ready,” said Rory.

  “But she is, Rory.”

  “I didn’t bring my camera.”

  “That’s okay. No photos today—this isn’t how she wants us to remember her.”

  Rory tried to swallow a sob. But he was too big. His sobs were too big to swallow. I didn’t have any words to make him feel better. So I patted him on the back. Pats had always made Maxi feel better.

  I opened the hatchback and spread out Maxi’s fuzzy fleece blanket, and my dad and Rory gently loaded her in.

  Then I left Rory with Maxi to say their good-byes.

  Mom called Mrs. Winslow to bring Abby over for her good-bye.

  I ran inside and grabbed some cheese.

  Abby asked the same question. “Are you sure?”

  “She’s sure, Abby.”

  Abby hugged me first. Her whole body quivered. And then she leaned into the back of the car and hugged Maxi and sobbed into her fur. She wasn’t calming down so I gently pulled her back and said, “It’s time, Abby.”