On September 20th 2005, as a rescue family we lost a truly spectacular dog. His adopted dad, John, pays tribute.
"This was the noblest Roman of them all ... His spirit was gentle and the elements so mixt in him that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, this was a dog."
"Waiting outside the bedroom door for me to wake up. Waiting on the landing for our walk after bouncing around upstairs, not moving until the door opens or the collar clicks. Where’s the fly? Is that a fly? Get the fly! Squinting catching water from the hose. Smiling fly bys at the park, looking up a second so our eyes meet. Front paws on the tree trunk, then springing up to get the squirrel. Swimming and wagging. (One of my fondest memories of Max will be seeing him from afar run the East Branch path from the southwest corner up to almost the beach on the west side in about 30 seconds. When he heard me, calling from a hill near the parking lot, he dove in and swam across to me, tail going the whole time, then smiled and darted away.) Sitting, head back. Always, he needs a part of his body against mine; on the patio, he backs up to push his thighs into mine; in bed, we press against each other; Rolling on his back while I read before turning the light out, so I can rub his belly; his legs stretch so his back paws almost touch my chest and while he can practically lick my feet if he wants. Standing on the CD player to get my attention and accidentally opening and closing the covers (looking over, I see they’re still open right now.) Go get your toy! Waiting out back for rabbits. Bump head. Pulling the collar on his walk, ears out at alert, head cocked for a squirrel or rabbit. Why won’t you go outside -- the door is open? While I stretch the walkout chain to meet his collar, he looks cautiously right and left with his head beyond the screen door. Standing on the basement landing, darting up when I approach. Licking the car windows (they’re still marked). Max, come back; and he does, almost every time. Breakfast can wait till we come back."