One month ago today, I lost my most cherished possession if one can call another mammal such a thing. To possess suggests ownership, and while yes...I owned a dog...Max in so very many ways owned me. He owned my time. He owned my wallet. He certainly owned by bed and this house (I just pay for it.) And he most definitely owned my heart.
It seems like for ten plus years running, Max is the most popular boy name for a dog. It is a good one. It allowed me myriad fantasies of all the adventures he might have gone on prior to his arrival in this abode. Much like Charlie Brown's Snoopy, he very well could have been involved in WWI flying or perhaps (and to his deepest regrets, surely) could have been an antisemitic canine. His paw would flash a Nazi salute when I extended his arm while he slept. And yet...he was kind to all of the bunnies and squirrels and birds in the yard. Is there such a thing as a kind Nazi? The only thing he hated was a house fly. Yet I digress.
Baron Maximilian von Wrigglebottom of Bavaria was in every way unique. His coloring alone was fantastic. The white markings all over from his paws (his socks that he helped me put on every day because he wore them all the time) to his belly. The white streak that topped his head (and was fun to play with) all the way to the tip of his tail. He was gorgeous. And cute. And my God...he was so very loving! I've met some kissy dogs before, but Max was the champion! Apologies to Angel the Bulldog (who is a master at it), but Max loved to give kisses! He loved to cuddle and he was a leaner when he was a younger pup. He wanted to be right next to you and in bed, the back to backs were wonderful. He liked them and so did I.
I suppose I should back up and tell you what I know of his history prior to his arrival in my world. If the shelter records are correct, he was born on September 6th of 2008. I do not know if he was born into the shelter or if they merely backdated when they got him (supposedly they can tell from the body frame, teeth, etc.) No matter, he was adopted as a puppy and then...somehow...was returned because someone could not take care of him. I do not know the particulars other than that, but I would like to slap that person across the face for giving up on the sweetest little boy that may well have ever existed. And I never got to see him as a puppy!
Cut to March of 2010. A very good friend of mine adopted him and he found a wonderful home. As I have said to you privately, Sherry...you gave me the greatest gift anyone has ever shared. She had two other adopted dogs that were Katrina victims. Bonnie and Clyde. Great names! Yet for all of his wonderfulness, Max was never one for the fellas. Or maybe it was Clyde. I do not know, but I can imagine. Max was scared of thunder and lightening and when such occurred, all he wanted was to shelter behind you. He would shake and shiver and I can only believe that when a harsh clap came from outside, he jumped up and disturbed the other male dog. It was such that Sherry knew she could not have these two together. Yet she could not separate the siblings.
I had just purchased this house in December of 2010. A mutual friend suggested that maybe Max might find a place here as she knew I wanted a dog. Enter the dog here. Max found his forever home. He was roughly two and a half and though no puppy anymore, he had so much energy and excitement. Playful and after some time, indeed affectionate. In April of 2011, he bought this house with his love. And we slept that night, and every night save for one after, together. My yard, my bed, my office, my couch, my chair...my everything...in an instant, it all became his. It became ours.
Now Max was not perfect. Who among us is? He was a nervous nelly. A hater of loud noises and storms. Was not a great fan of the veterinarian (the concept, not his first doc Joanne Belian Shaw who was wonderful!) Not a great eater because he was picky (though he would steal a ham sandwich in a heartbeat) and it took me years to find his preferred food (raw...always raw...or what Daddy was eating.) And he hated to be man-handled. DO NOT pick him up! He would do it himself. Until he could not. And even then, I believe he did not like it but allowed it. And boy, was he a whiner!! People always thought he was upset, but he wasn't. That's just how he responded when he was excited. Car drives were a favorite almost until the end, but he made his noises.
What he did not like was being away from this house and me. On the few occasions that I left him with someone else, he would not eat. Would even get sick to his stomach. His anxiety was severe. And the older he got, the worse that became. He grew steady in his habits and did not like it when things changed. Oddly (or perhaps perfectly) he became much like me. They say sometimes that pets are like their owners. Well...we two suited each other. In almost every way.
And he was there in every thing that occurred in my life from that time he got here in 2011 to now. He was there to witness my grief when awful things happened and at every step, did what he knew from his doggy brain to help me. The deaths of some of my closest friends (too many!) and he could feel my sadness. Especially when it was someone he knew. He did not understand that particular separation, but he knew how much it disturbed me. Keith loved him! Andy too. Rebekah only saw him the one time, but she was a big one and he could feel it. John and Laura...the list is too damn long. And at every step, there he was to comfort. To hug and hold tightly. Even when I had Covid the first time, he found every toy in the house and brought it to me to try and make me feel better. Maybe. You can find the picture somewhere on Facebook.
With the big excitements, he was there too. A World Series win and not one but two National Championships for the Dawgs! He was not the greatest fan of all of my loud noises, but he could tell that Daddy was happy and allowed me to fit him out in gear and got with me on the couch to watch and then celebrate. He even danced with me when I got excited about music. Not necessarily happy about it, but if that was what Daddy was doing...he would allow. He really wasn't sure what I was doing when I sang loudly around the house (and I do) but he listened. He accepted. And he never judged (well maybe, but I think it sounded good.)
He would watch me in the shower sometimes and always wanted to be on the couch next to me. He would warm up the bed every night and even knew the word "bed." That's all I ever needed to say and he was off and jumped up there in great expectation and excitement. Even my back yard, as over grown as it gets, offered him adventure. His greatest happiness possibly was patrolling the fence perimeter. He held no ill will towards the creatures out there. He just wanted to know that everything was where he left it. It was HIS yard after all.
It was HIS life and for nearly fourteen years, it was the greatest that he had ever known. Perhaps that is why he never really wanted to leave this house. It was comfort that he had not known prior. Which is not to say he did not have adventure. He wasn't much of a swimmer (not at all) but he did finally and voluntarily get into the ocean when we went to the beach. He wanted to play with Buffy. He loved the ladies. He loved Sadie when she came to stay and he loved Maggie (and even tried to hump her until she said "No More!") He loved when Angel came over in his later years and even though his flesh was weak, his desire kept him trying. She intrigued him and he would so cutely kiss on her ears. I think she liked it. Pretty sure she did.
In short, he was perfect to me. Not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. Would that we humans could show the same understanding and consideration. He was precious and cute and sweet and kissy and loving and...my everything. Frankly, better than any relationship I have ever had with another human being. Maybe that says more about me than other people, but...Max was my Prince.
He's been gone now for a month. It has been difficult to see and feel his absence. The little white tufts of his hair that fell out from time to time. A nail I found in his closet (he was never crate trained, so he chose my closet as his crate as he slept under my pants.) The backyard so overgrown that is going unsupervised by the foreman. The trash, when I take it out, also not supervised (I don't know why, but he was always very interested when that occurred. The smell, I suppose.) His knowledge of time knowing exactly when he was ready for dinner at the same point every day (he did not like it when I extended it.) His butt pillow as we slept together. Always on the right (and I now have an actual pillow that I pretend is Max...I'm not crazy!) And most of all, his sweet and trusting eyes. His thankful eyes. His happy eyes.
Max's last years were not kind to him as it is for older dogs. He started losing his eyesight and hearing. His back end got worse and worse, even with the supplements I was giving him. He could not jump on the bed anymore and had to deal with the indignity (to him) of having me lift him and let him down. But he allowed it. It extended our time together. It extended our life together. I am almost certain that he might have given up (if one can choose that) had it not been for me. He just did not want to leave me. And I never wanted to leave him. He was my guy. My only one.
Even in his final days, he was a trooper. He went on a last vacation and had a little doggy birthday party as he turned 16. All the pets and family were there. He sniffed strange new worlds and was happy to do so. He even decided that "hey...I think I can make that jump" even if he could not. He slept all the way home. One last adventure for the man that didn't really like adventure, but could make the most out of it. The beach, Texas, pushy bitches (his girlfriends, all of them) and/or a strange new world after trying to find a home again and again.
And then...the end. His last days were sad and pitiful and I had to do the one thing I did not want to do. I am a firm believer that it is God's choice to take us from this world as it is to place us within it. Yet we, as humans, must do for them what they cannot. Make a difficult choice on our own. It is to his betterment for he no longer suffers as I believe he did in those last days. But damn! Just damn!
It was a life full of adventure for him, and some of it maybe not so wonderful. But in his last days and as I held him in my arms as the dose was administered, I was comforted only slightly that I knew he would be away from pain and ready to run in full again. They say across the rainbow bridge, whatever that is, but he does not suffer now as he did. The last and final thing that I could do for him because I loved him so very much. Hurt or pain for me is not the right word. I might say relief, but that doesn't work either. It is simply a void...an absence of that thing that I cherished so much, and will never again know. That special bond that he and I both had with one another. It can never be replaced.
Which is not to say that I will not try as those that know me have seen. I have another beautiful little boy who is learning by the day. And day by day, we are learning each other. It is wholly different. Not better or worse. Just another adventure. And I'd like to think that somewhere out there, wherever he is, Max is looking at us and barking, "Go for it! He gives good treats!"
Ringo will find out in time, as will I. A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives. I believe that. I impacted Max's life and he sure as hell impacted mine. To the future we go. Rest in peace, sweet boy. My sweet, beautiful Prince. I hope all of your training of me helps in this new endeavor. Thank YOU for all of the lessons. I will never forget them or you.
That is all.
Recent Comments