Ever since Dharma the Wonder Dog came into my life, I’ve toyed with the notion of writing a book about her, using the title employed above. Although that book has yet to be written, it never occurred to me that it would begin with a chapter filled with drama like the last two weeks have provided. But while novel themes like serious illness, angst, tears, fear and trepidation might make for a good read, they are unthinkable in real life, and when the heroine is four-legged and unable to actually tell us what’s wrong? Well, then it becomes a horror story.

I’ve had dogs my entire life, beginning at age five with Lizzy, a snotty black toy poodle that my mother pretended was for “the kids”—but that dog hated everyone else in the family and only had eyes for Mom. Then along came German shepherds Katie and Eve, Cockapoo Lambchop and rescue-dog extraordinaire Liza, who died at 15 after a years-long struggle with diabetes.

“I think you’ll cry less after I die,” Mom said following Liza’s passing, and while that was a foolish notion, I took the terrier’s death hard, wondering if I could ever love another dog as much. By that time, I had suffered a severe brain injury, which in turn caused a seizure-related disorder, which led me to hearing about “medical-alert” dogs and the wonders they can perform. With tremendous assistance from a number of sources and incredible support from friends, a 12-week-old pure-bred Havanese puppy (www.akc.org/dog-breeds/havanese) waddled over to me one sunny day near Pittsburgh, PA, took a sniff and sat on my lap, and Dharma the Wonder Dog entered my life. I didn’t know it then, but my entire existence was about to change.

A story in National Geographic Magazine titled “Seizure-Alert Dogs Save Humans with Early Warnings” caught my attention and I marveled while reading it thoroughly. “Over the last decade a new kind of service animal has emerged” the article stated. “Seizure alert dogs warn people with epilepsy of an oncoming attack minutes—sometimes hours—before it occurs. This allows the person time to take seizure blocking medication, get to a safe place, or call for assistance.” Shaking my head in disbelief I read on. “Dogs can be trained to stay with a person during a seizure and even press a button on a phone that dials 911.” The piece went on to quote dog trainer Sharon Hermanson, who works with the Canine Seizure Assist Society of North Carolina, who performs “trainability tests” when selecting potential alert dogs to work with and “prays that God will show her the one that best fulfills the needs of the person with epilepsy.”

While I embrace my Jewish heritage and the traditions involved, I would never call myself “religious” in the traditional sense, and until Dharma fell ill a few weeks ago and was diagnosed with canine Lyme disease, I had never actually prayed. While being treated with medication and repeated visits to the vet, Dharma took a turn for the worse last Friday and was rushed to a clinic where her blood work revealed that she was suffering from Lyme-related internal organ issues. I collapsed in the parking lot following the consultation. Unable to alert me because of her impaired health, I was forced to take anti-seizure medication 24/7 for the first time since Dharma had graduated at the top of her class, having learned how to alert me by the age of four months.

The past week has been an emotional roller coaster for me, and beyond difficult for the dog, who has been fighting to walk on her own, let alone be able to wag her tail, take a drink, or at times, even lift her head. Appealing to her online social media group (www.Facebook.com/HavaneseLovers), who number in the thousands, I reached out to them and asked for prayers and after considering it myself, slumped to the floor sobbing, and prayed. “Better late than never” I whispered to my pup. “I refuse to give up hope.”

While having a check-up and more tests yesterday, I begged the vet (catskillvetserv@gmail.com) to heal my dog, without whom life has no meaning for me. “She is not going to die” Dr. Joe said. “Not on my watch.”

Today, my dog not only picked her head up, but took a few steps without crying, ate something and kissed me for the first time in almost three weeks. “Her numbers look much better today,” the vet’s email confirmed. “But don’t let her try to do too much. She needs her rest, and so do you.” While we are hardly out of the woods, I can see the light today, and bask in the glow. “Maybe it’s true after all” I whispered in her ear. “God is Dog spelled backwards.”

For more information on medical alert dogs, visit www.k94life.org