**At Sweet Rickey‘s request, given the title, I am editing this post to add: Maya is FINE, very much alive, and disgusted with the world at large.
In an effort to encourage gentleness with Miss Maya, who is a rather old dog, Mr and I frequently remind B of Maya’s age. This appears to have backfired, as B and I had the following conversation in the car today:
When is Maya going to die?
I don’t know, honey.
Well, how long is her going to live?
Hmmm… Dogs like Maya usually live to be fifteen or sixteen. She’s about fourteen now. So she’ll probably be around for a little while longer.
[Silence from the back seat, indicating that his mental wheels are turning]
Mommy, what do animals look like when they’re dead?
Um… like they’re sleeping?
Oh…[beat of silence] Only flatter.