The story of Maggie and Jay

Correction: Due to a photographer's error, a caption in Globe West accompanying a Sept. 17 story about a therapy dog at UMass Memorial Medical Center incorrectly stated the nature of 2-year-old Caden Cogswell's illness. He had been hospitalized briefly for intestinal problems, and has since fully recovered.

Dogs usually aren't allowed into UMass Memorial Medical Center, and especially not in the sterile environment of the children's intensive-care unit.

But that rule does not apply to a golden retriever named Maggie. Wearing her blue vest and ID badge, she is a common sight, sitting guard by the nurse's station or in the hall next to 12-year-old cancer patient Jay Davis.

More than 350 children have gotten to know her by name. But now Maggie is facing illness. Last month, the retriever was diagnosed with a severe form of cancer in her nose. And like Jay, and many of her other young pals, she'll probably need chemotherapy to save her life.

If the treatment doesn't work, Dr. Marianne E. Felice, head of pediatrics at the Worcester medical facility, wonders what her staff will tell the children.

``I consider Maggie a member of our staff," Felice said. ``If we lost Maggie, it would be devastating."

Before Maggie, a dog had never set foot in the hospital -- at least not with permission.

The story of the 65-pound retriever's triumph over bureaucracy began two years ago when her owner, Mike Kewley, started a group for volunteers interested in bringing their pets to visit patients in local hospitals and nursing homes. He called it Shrewsbury Paws.

Looking back recently, Kewley said his marriage of 30 years had just ended and he thought volunteering Maggie as a therapy dog would help him cope.

``It's therapy for me, too," said Kewley, 51. ``It helped fill a major void in my life."

He approached officials at UMass Memorial about starting a dog therapy program. Some staffers were leery, including Felice, and there was a lot of red tape. But children's activities director Rob Wing had seen similar programs in other hospitals and wanted to try it.

``It's such a sterile environment," Wing said. ``There's a lot of equipment. One of the most normal things for a kid is to play with and have a pet."

Three dogs, including Maggie, tried out for the position. Felice eliminated one dog from the mix because he was a drooler (unsanitary). The other candidate moved away. Maggie, who rarely drools or licks, was a perfect fit, Felice decided.

Maggie had already been certified by Therapy Dogs International and knew how to follow Kewley's hand commands. (A fist, for instance, means stay.) Under the new hospital policy, she had to be washed, combed, and clipped -- a 90-minute process -- before each visit. An entourage of quality control and hospital safety personnel followed her around on her first visits with children.

But, like a favorite uncle, Maggie eventually won everyone over with her gentle, come-what-may manner. Now, at age 9 -- senior-citizen status, by dog standards -- she's a bit creaky, her limbs not what they used to be.

When they arrive at the hospital, Kewley lifts Maggie out of the back seat of his truck and tenderly puts her on the ground. Inside, she pads the hallways, accepting pats from passersby. She sprawls on the floor as staff members rub her belly. She doesn't flinch when a 2-year-old tugs her ear.

While Maggie may seem to be just be another pooch leading a dog's life, the medical professionals say what she does is nothing short of magic.

Wing recalled watching Maggie meet a little girl with cancer who hadn't spoken for weeks.

``She sat on the floor and patted the dog for 20 minutes and just babbled," he said. ``It was such a dramatic shift."

Felice said she watched Maggie sit at the edge of the bed of a young cancer patient. The girl couldn't reach the dog, so Maggie jumped up onto the bed to reach the girl.

It was a violation of policy, but Felice said the staff decided to overlook it when the dog put her head on the girl's lap.

``It appears to me that there are times when this dog senses what a child needs," Felice said.

That seems to be the case for Jay Davis. He had been in the hospital's intensive-care unit for four months, diagnosed with an inoperable tumor in his chest. Tubes ran from his nose and arm. Medical monitors beeped steadily. Get-well cards from friends lined his institutional dresser.

Sick children in nearby rooms watched visitors come and go silently. This world is a place few adults want to go.

Maggie met Ja'Kwan -- that's Jay's full name -- shortly after he emerged from a coma. A nurse in the unit, Susan Andres, thought he might like a visit from Maggie. Jay's mother, Felicia Davis, said he loved animals and once had a pet ferret.

``He always wanted a dog," Jay's mom said.

But the boy was still weak, lacking the strength to talk or even open his eyes. Andres said she would pick up his hand and stroke Maggie's silky ear with it. Sometimes the dog, lying on a stretcher next to Jay's bed, would gently rest her head on top of his hand.

More recently, Jay met Maggie in the hallway of the ICU. He struggled and eventually lifted his hand to pet her.

``Three or four doctors and nurses with tears in their eyes watched him," Andres said. ``It was seeing how much effort it took for him to pet her, but how much he wanted to. It's hard to believe that one dog can make such a difference."

It was late summer when Kewley first noticed swelling and something that looked like a bee sting below Maggie's nose. When the swelling didn't go away, he brought her to the Tufts veterinary hospital. After a battery of tests, she was diagnosed with Stage 3 mast cell cancer, an advanced form of the disease. Felice said Kewley called her, sobbing, from the animal hospital.

Veterinarians at Tufts are treating Maggie with steroids and hoping that the tumor will shrink enough to be treated by chemotherapy. If not, they may have to surgically remove as much as half of her snout and some of her front teeth to stop the skin cancer's spread.

Kewley said Maggie moves even more slowly these days. But she continues to make visits to the hospital.

Andres told Jay about her illness. ``Maggie has the same kind of bump you have," the nurse recalled telling him. ``And she's getting medication for her bump."

The boy couldn't respond -- he remains unable to talk. But he can open his eyes now. And last week, staff wheeled him outside to take Maggie for a walk.

Propped up in the gurney, feeding tubes attached, Jay sat impassively as Andres put Maggie's leash in one of his hands. On command, Maggie began pulling him along. Then Jay did something that surprised everyone: He reached out for the leash with his other hand to hold on.

Megan Woolhouse can be called at 508-820-4236 or e-mailed at woolhouse@globe.com.