My dog died this evening.
We had adopted Max in the fall of 1999, when he was about five years old.
Marguerite, a friend of mine, had lived next door to Max’s original owners. They had bought Max as a puppy, and had his papers – he was a full-blooded blonde Chow and they had paid $300 for him.
A short time afterward, when the woman next door died, her husband was so consumed with grief that he moved away, leaving Max behind to be cared for by whoever happened to be renting the house. Max lived on table scraps and neglect, and Marguerite took pity on him, taking him food and water, and trying to find him a new home.
So we ended up bringing Max to our house. It was not easy.
Max had spent most of his first five years living alone in the back yard, with little love or attention from anyone, except Marguerite. He was not used to being around people, and he was pretty much scared of everyone.
The day we picked him up, Marguerite coaxed Max over towards the gate, bribing him with some doggie treats while sweet-talking him. I was concerned about being bitten by a spooked, frightened dog, so I had brought along a muzzle and some dog tranquilizers. We had slipped a tranquilizer into his treats, and after a bit, while he was relaxing and being petted by Marguerite, I got the muzzle slipped over his snout and carried him off to the back of our van.
I could tell Max was nervous, and I just stayed with him in the back of the van and held him during the short drive back to our house. I spent that evening just talking to him and hugging him, and through his drug-induced haze I think he began to realize that he had a new and better home.
It took a while for Max to warm up to the rest of the household. For a while, I was his only buddy on site. Marguerite stopped by a few times to check on him, and he was always happy to see her.
Max had been so neglected, for so long, that he kept to himself most of the time. Sometimes he did not even come to me when I called him. For a while, we were concerned that he would not ever bond with us.
As time passed by, Max became more affectionate. One major milestone was reached on the day that Max came into the house and laid down for a while in the living room. Prior to that he had always stayed outside, and he seemed afraid to cross the threshold from the back porch to the kitchen. But we had finally worn him down. He was becoming a member of the family.
Max was a Chow through and through. He was loyal, loving, yet at the same time, independent and stubborn. You could not make that dog do anything that he really did not want to do. He did not like having medicine put on a sore paw. He did not like sitting still to have his nails trimmed. He did not like being treated like a common dog, and would refuse to sit up and beg for treats.
The one exception to that rule was a pig’s ear. So irresistible was the aroma of a pig’s ear that Max would lose all self-control, and hop around like any common dog begging for a treat. I let him debase himself in this manner on several occasions, but then my conscience began to bother me. I knew Max would hate himself in the morning after forfeiting his dignity like that, so I would simply call him to the back door, graciously give him the pig’s ear, and watch him trot around the yard, snout pointed towards the heavens, pig’s ear lifted high.
After a proper procession, the feasting would begin. Another thing Max did not like: being disturbed while chewing on a pig’s ear.
Once, when I changed his brand of dog food, he expressed his displeasure like this: he picked up the bowl in his mouth, holding it high while he marched around the kitchen table for four laps. Then he walked straight up to me and flung the bowl down at my feet, then turned and walked away. I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I did figure out it was time to get a better brand of dog food.
Max would not do tricks, or catch a Frisbee, or play ball. You couldn’t walk him on a leash, because he would drive you crazy since he was always picking up some stray scent and wanting to wander off to who-knows-where. Another thing Max did not like: being restrained by a leash when he wanted to wander off to who-knows-where.
Max did like getting his ears scratched. And his back scratched. And like all Chows, he liked to maneuver himself around so that the back-scratching turned into a butt-scratching – well, actually, an end-of-the-back-above-the-tail-scratching, but we always called it butt-scratching. Anyway, he liked it a lot. I don’t know how long he could sit there being scratched, because my arms always wore out before Max’s back did.
He was just a sweet dog, a dog that wanted to be loved, and who became part of our family. I am going to miss him.
He was aging, of course, and was getting arthritis. His hearing wasn’t good, and his eyesight was dimming. But until this evening, I had no clue of any major problems. Earlier today Max seemed lethargic, and I thought he was trying to vomit.
Before we left for a family get-together this evening, I took a few minutes to pet him and talk to him out in the back yard. I told him I was sorry he wasn’t feeling well, and I scratched his ears and back, wishing that I could do something to make him feel better. He just stood there quietly, and then I petted him one last time and left.
We got home later this evening, and right before I went to bed, I thought I would check on Max, and maybe let him in the house for a while to warm up. (Chows are furry dogs, and they love the cold weather, so he stayed outside most of the time.)
Stepping out the back door, I saw him lying on his side, right outside the porch. I called to him. I knew something was wrong. He was lying so still. I reached down to pet his neck. He was already stiff and cold. Some time between 5:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. this evening, Max laid down for the last time.
I am so glad I took the time to talk to Max and pet him one last time before we left this evening. I wish there was something else I could have done for him, but I had no idea he was so ill.
We never know how much time we have. We never know how much time anyone else has. It is a good idea to keep short accounts. Whether it is a pet, a spouse, a good friend or neighbor, we never know if we may be speaking to that loved one for the last time.
Another good reason why God tells us to always speak in love.
