"They don't talk human," explained James Taft, 9, to his mother as he corralled Spike, his Bernese Mountain dog, and Sienna, a chocolate Labrador, in for a bath on a recent afternoon, despite the human-dog language barrier.

"Yes James, that's right," replied James's mother, Gale Tyner-Taft, her voice cracking in amusement, "they don't talk human." Gale searched for a leash to restrain the family's doting pets, neither of whom are fond of baths, and James readied the water hose. Both dogs found creative ways to hide from both soap and spray.

Albeit midweek and a day full of a mother's time-crunching and errands, this period represents a breather for Gale in the ongoing string crises that began nearly a year ago. James is only beginning a new stage of chemotherapy and radiation treatments, the later stages doing far more to deplete his energy level, he is not currently neutropenic -- a phase of weakened immunity common for leukemia patients -- and he had a good session with his tutor this morning.

"The difference is night and day," said Gale of her life now versus last summer, when the daily tasks of being a mom began to snowball for her.

On a flight to Kentucky for a family reunion on Memorial Day weekend James began to have a hard time breathing, and what appeared to be an allergic reaction boded far worse when James suffered a stroke shortly after they returned home. In June of last year, tests revealed that James had acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL), a cancer of the white blood cells that accounts for about 80 percent of the childhood leukemia cases.

James immediately began treatment at UCSF Medical Center, and Gale took to sleeping on a futon on the floor of his room and tending to her son's daily needs, one of which was finding an alternative to hospital food. Gale's husband Robert would relieve her when she had to work.

"I missed about three months (of work) and had to borrow from my (personal time off) when James was first diagnosed, and then the company I work for got me a laptop," said Gale, who coordinates hospitality for area wineries. "I'm lucky they've been so supportive."

Not attuned solely to her son's suffering, Gale began knitting for the sick children she and James befriended while staying in the hospital; blankets for the boys and scarves for the girls, saying a prayer with each stitch she made, she said. Gale credits James' recovery from an early diagnosis as a high risk, slow responder to her sister, Becky Zikovic, who called on her "prayer warriors" to pray for James.

"There were days when I just had to walk out of the hospital and cry," said Gale, recounting the time two of the leukemia patients they met in the hospital died from a fungal infection.

When James contracted the same lethal aspergellis fungus, Gale absorbed herself in the topic and quickly became an expert, as she does with anything related to her son's illness. Many of the terms she learned cause Gale recoil with displeasure, particularly those related to his chemotherapy regimen. Even as James is slated to undergo cranial radiation in addition to chemotherapy next month, Gale has misgivings.

"I'm one of those people who question chemotherapy," said Gale, though with James' cancer in remission and his health and studies improving, this will hopefully be the last time she has to consider the topic.

For now she can enjoy the lull, the scampering dogs trying to avoid soap and spray, and these days when James doesn't have to be "monkish," a term the family has adopted from hypochondriacal title character of the television show "Monk," as the perfect description for when James is neutropenic.

"It has been an awful, but beautiful experience," said Gale, smiling at James as he went out to brush the drying dogs.