CHAPTER 6

WHEN WE GOT HOME, Mom had Maxi’s food waiting in her dish. Dad and I just stared as she ate.

“What’s up?” asked Mom.

I started, “Maxi . . . out there . . . the loudest ATV engine in the world, louder than a jet engine—”

“Not that loud,” Dad jumped in. “But really close to us and loud. And Maxi didn’t—”

“No, she didn’t,” I agreed.

“Spit it out. She didn’t what?” asked Mom.

Dad and I shouted, “HEAR!”

We filled Mom in. Dad played down the we-almost-got-crushed-by-the-ATV part and I played up the big-jerk part.

“Were you looking at her when the ATV approached?” asked Mom.

“Approached isn’t the right word, Mom. It zoomed! And we were just trying not to get kill—”

Dad cut me off: “We were busy getting out of the way of the four-wheeler, so, no, we weren’t watching Maxi and her reaction.”

“But she never noticed, Mom. She was still after that squirrel.”

“Maybe she was too distracted by the squirrel.”

“Maybe,” I said. I wanted to believe Maxi could hear.

“Help me finish getting supper ready, you two,” said Mom. “Then while we’re eating we can come up with a strategy to figure out if Maxi is really deaf, only hearing-impaired, or if it’s just your vivid imaginations.”

After supper, Dad and I did research while Mom tested Maxi. We found a Facebook page called “Deaf Dogs Rock.” We already knew Maxi rocked whether she was deaf or not. But when we clicked on their website and links, we discovered that more white dogs were born deaf than any other color—it’s some sort of genetic, pigment thing.

“But not all white dogs are deaf, right?” I asked.

Dad nodded, but his nod wasn’t very reassuring.

Dad and I peeked in on Mom, who sat in the recliner while Maxi dozed on her bed by the sliding glass doors. Mom had her phone open to the ringtones app. At random intervals, Mom tried different ringtones—but Maxi’s only actions were dream twitches.

Except the one time she jumped up and barked at a squirrel on the other side of the sliding doors. But had she heard the drumming ringtone right before she woke up and saw the squirrel? Or maybe her strong sniffer had smelled the squirrel through the door and that woke her up. Or maybe this was a dumb experiment. Maxi had never reacted when phones rang. Most dogs don’t—they’re dogs! Who’s gonna call a dog?

Our opinion would change every day, sometimes hourly . . .

“She’s not deaf,” I declared when Maxi raced into the kitchen as I microwaved popcorn.

“Try again, Sherlock Holmes,” answered Dad. “Remember that a dog’s sense of smell is thousands of times more powerful than a human’s. She didn’t hear the popcorn popping. She smelled it and hoped you’d share. Heck, even I smelled it with my inferior nose from the den—with the door closed! Why do you think I’m here? Gonna share that popcorn with your favorite father?”

Whenever Maxi was left home alone in her crate while we were away, she’d start barking as soon as one of us walked through the door. But did she hear the door? Hear us holler her name? Or did she somehow notice a change in light or air pressure when the door opened?

Or maybe it was in Maxi’s blood not to listen? A lot of owners on the “I Love Great Pyrenees” Facebook page complained their Pyr puppies were so stubborn, were such independent thinkers, that they would have sworn they were deaf.

We were stumped. Was Maxi deaf, or acting like a typical Pyr pup? So we made Maxi an appointment with a veterinary specialist in Portland for the next week. Maybe then we’d finally get an answer.

• • •

SECRET #6

Life is never black or white—even if you’re a WHITE Great Pyrenees.