Maus – The little dog with the name of a mouse and the nine lives of a stubborn cat

Written by Vanessa Viljoen

Professional photography by Shutter Buggers

A small black-and-tan 10-year-old Dachshund-cross named Maus entered my life as a foster dog on the 2^nd of March 2026. By the 15^th, somewhere between quiet moments, soft eyes, and tiny paw prints following me everywhere, fostering became forever.

Maus was no longer just a dog needing a home – he was home.

He needed emergency surgery

Only weeks later, on the 5^th of April 2026, life tested him brutally. Maus developed a weird “goose honk cough”.

Upon investigation by the amazing vet Doug Hathorn from Midlands Veterinary Hospital, he underwent emergency diaphragmatic repair surgery – most likely due to blunt force trauma suffered some time ago before being adopted; a battle that many small dogs would never fully recover from.

But Maus carried the heart of something much bigger than his tiny body. He survived. He healed. And slowly, together, we began rebuilding normal life again.

Then came Friday, the 15^th of May 2026…

Five endless days

What was meant to be an ordinary evening walk on the farm with the pack, turned into every dog owner’s nightmare. In a moment, Maus was gone. He took fright from an over-exuberant Retriever known as Floofie whilst walking together but who came at him like Faf de Klerk (our favourite scrum-half), and ran for all he was worth.

There was no way by which I could stop him – he was in full flight/survival mode.

The days that followed blurred into exhaustion, fear, dusty roads, plantations, ravines, torchlight, tears, and endless searching. I searched through the cold nights and long days for five endless days, calling his name into forests, fields, and silence. Sleep and food became irrelevant. Hope became something fragile I held onto with trembling hands, and I sometimes felt it slip through my fingers like the sands through an hourglass.

On Sunday, the 17^th of May, a tracker dog and a drone searched for him, but still there was no sign of my boy.

The following day I scent-trailed the bottom boundary of Mizpah Farm, following up on a gut feel I had, and also logically the only area I hadn’t at that stage covered as he was believed to be higher up.

That night I prayed harder than I ever had before – asking God and the Angels to keep Maus safe, warm, hidden from danger, and somehow guide him home to me.

On Tuesday I forced myself back to work, though my heart was still out in the hills searching for him. An animal communicator independently placed Maus exactly where I’d scent-trailed the area the day before – near the bottom boundary of the farm.

Then, at 3PM that day, everything changed.

A miracle for Maus

I received a call from Marion Young. She’d seen Maus near the bottom boundary fence of the main house property and tried desperately to guide him into a safe holding area. But during the chaos, one of her Anatolian Shepherds bit him and, terrified, Maus ran again.

I left work immediately and drove the 15 kilometres back towards the farm, heart pounding with equal parts hope and fear.

I rushed to the “last-sighted spot” and gently called his name, begging him to show himself. Little did I know that due to the dog attack little Maus had ran right off the farm again and up the P145, the main road leading from our farm to Curry’s Post Road, in severe shock and flight mode.

Then another miracle arrived.

A community member named Joe called to say that he’d spotted a small black-and-tan dog running along the P145. He followed Maus slowly in his bakkie while I raced back up the road.

As I drove, I rolled down my window and played “Fine Day” – the tune Maus knew every morning before getting his beloved chicken feet treat.

And then… he stopped.

I called his name softly.

Maus turned. I played the tune again and Maus came running back straight into my arms. I scooped him into my arms and broke apart completely. The tears came hard, ugly and unstoppable as I held the little dog I thought I might never see again. Dirty. Exhausted. Alive.

My boy was safe.

My heart was whole again.

That night, Maus stayed at the vet for rehydration, blood tests and observation after enduring five days alone in survival mode. Against all odds, he was cleared to come home the following day.

And when he walked back through that door, something inside me finally exhaled.

Maus was home.

And so was I.