Saying goodbye to an old friend..
I first met Max in the Spring of 2002.
I noticed his laughing eyes, gorgeous blonde hair, charming personality, and his bad breath. I also noticed the pretty lady walking with him.
Max is my dog. Well, he belongs to my wife, but he's my dog now.
I met Max and my future wife after I took an early day off from work, and loaded my black Labrador, Hoover, into the car. We headed over to a spot I had never been to before, but had been recommended to visit. It's a private school in the heart of Denver, that has a large open space on its grounds. There is a big lake, tall grasses, lots of trees, and many things to sniff. We pulled into the empty parking lot, and had the place to ourselves. Hoover immediately ran off to explore, and discovered Max. I discovered my future wife. The dogs romped and played, I chatted up the pretty lady, we went out to dinner that night, and the rest is history.
Thanks, Max.
Max is closing in on twelve. The Fetching Mrs. P plucked him from a Lab Rescue place on the East Coast, and he has traveled back and forth across the U.S. a few times. He's an accomplished co-pilot, experienced in the ways of room service, isn't shy about getting up on a couch or bed, and lets you know when he's hungry by letting out a low, guttural moan. He also doesn't like having his toes touched, but does like it when you tease him about trying to touch them. If you scratch him under his chin for a few minutes, he'll soon let lose with several window-rattling sneezes. Make sure not too get too close to that mouth, however. That breath is deadly! He's also a great alarm clock, never failing to remind me each morning at about 4:45 that it's time for his breakfast. By the way, Max doesn't have a "snooze" button.
His back legs are getting bad. He tries to get up and walk, but his body isn't listening to what his brain is asking it to do. On the rare occasions that he can get up, he'll wobble for a bit, but then go back down. The condition has come on quickly-we first noticed a "hitch in his get-a-long" about a month ago, but he got around fine. In the last two weeks, he has gotten worse, and it's hard to watch. Everything else about him is the same, he just can't walk around.
Our dogs do everything with us. They've been hiking, camping, snowshoeing, biking, in our wedding, in our Christmas pictures. You name it, we probably have a picture of the dogs there with us. One of my favorite pictures is of Max just after he pulled his head out of a snowbank in Steamboat Springs. The Fetching Mrs. P sent it into the Lab Rescue place where she got him, and they put him in their calendar. Add "International Supermodel" to his list of accomplishments.
I've been trying to think of the last good walk Max had. Mr. and Mrs. Geno moved at the beginning of May, and I recall us all taking a long walk over at their old place. They used to live where Stapleton Airport used to be. It's a fantastic development, and has lots of trails, trees, water, and big open space. The dogs ran, swam, sniffed and played. If I had known that would be the last "good" walk for Max, we would have stayed longer.
I bet Hoover would have let him win at tug-o-war, too.
We had a good day today. Max lounged in the front yard, got lots of loving, and a few treats he normally wouldn't have had. Deep down the Fetching Mrs. P and I know what the best decision is, but we just can't bring it up. She's kept a stiff upper lip, but it's been a hard weekend for her. She and Max have been there for each other for a long time, and it's hard to let go. The appointment at the Vet tomorrow morning will be difficult. Please send your thoughts and prayers not just to my wife, but to Hoover as well. He knows there is something wrong with his brother, and can't quite figure out why he has been walking solo the last few nights.
It's incredible how pets impact our lives. They share our wins and losses, make our lives better, and love us without condition. My life has truly been made better by Max having been it it.
