Max and Me...a eulogy of sorts?

Right now I should be figuring out what I'm going to do for my ASL exam that takes place tomorrow, or reading Northanger Abbey, or Pride and Prejudice, or the lovely Ethan Frome, but as always my mind is wandering. It's the week after spring break, can you blame me? Well actually you probably could since my procrastination is a very real problem. But there's always tomorrow right? Wrong, although I wish it were true.

As you all may have gathered by the all-knowing Facebook, our beloved family pet/member of 15 years passed away last Friday. And I just can't get him off of my mind. My mom called me with the news on Thursday and asked for "advice" but really I think she just wanted my "okay." Which is fine, I'm glad she called, very glad. I've known for a while that Max hasn't been doing well. When Mike and I went to California last June, Max's health was in poor shape, but apparently it's been much worse since I saw him last. Actually, last October we all thought that he was on his way out. Then with a new special diet, he improved--slightly. So when she told me she was thinking of having him put down the next day, I wasn't shocked. It took a while for me to process it though, seeing that the last time I saw him (June) I made sure my "goodbye" was extra long and special. I even shed some tears, because I'm sure somewhere deep inside, I just knew this was it. Max looked at me longingly with his big brown eyes, expressive eyebrows, and floppy ears, and I knew he knew too. Anyway, my point is my goodbye coupled with the scare in October, kind of made it feel like he was already gone. The idea of him actually being "gone" was so surreal to me. 

Some of you may wonder why I'm rambling on about losing a dog. Like, "come on, it's just a dog." While I can't compare this grief to that of losing a parent, sibling, child, grandparent, spouse, or close friend, I can tell you the grief is very real. And not just because Max was around for 15 years and he was always very efficient at performing his duties as a good family dog, thus making him important to us. He was so much more than "just a dog." He represents an entire era of my life, of my family's life--one I like to call "transitions." 

Being a kid is hard. Let's all just admit that. I used to think I had a troubled childhood, until I met my husband and I realized I was being very ungrateful for everything I grew up with. I've come to the conclusion that my childhood was more difficult, and less "troubled." Not ideal, but not horrific. A realization that makes me feel at peace with the circumstances I faced as a kid, and makes me appreciate everything I did--and still do--have. 

When I was 9 my mom remarried for the first time to a man who I wasn't particularly fond of (at age 8 I thought putting a drop of blue food coloring in his water might make him sick enough to not be able to marry my mom anymore, little did I know food coloring is not poisonous). Okay so I really hated the idea of my mom marrying him, but when I found out we were going to get a dog once we moved in, my ploys to ruin their wedding subsided and I started going with the flow. Because what 9-year old doesn't want a dog? 

Sure enough a few months after moving in to our new step-family's house, we started looking for a dog. And who should find one for us? My very own dad. Making our connection to Max even greater from the start because in my 9-year old mind, my dad finding him for us meant that he was somehow his too, and that made us a family again. 

Max was a fluffy, floppy-eared, lovable 6-month old German Shepherd mix, who was found wandering the streets by my dad's coworker. I'll never forget driving up to meet him for the first time, he was out on the grass with his temporary caretaker, who was giving him a belly rub while he rolled around on the grass. This woman had been calling him Max, and despite our protests to call him something else, my mom stuck with it and I'm so glad she did. 

For the next 6 years or so, Max grew up just as a young pup should--outside. He was free to roam around an extensive amount of land; endlessly chasing ducks around a pond, running after deer and foxes in the gully behind our house, eating apples that fell from the trees in our neighbor's lawn, causing mischief with his BFF Lucky (which included showing up in the cafeteria of our elementary school a few times), chasing the neighborhood kids up and down Apple Hollow Cove, walking us to and from the bus stop everyday (occasionally chasing after us as we drove off), getting sprayed by skunks, and even rolling around in horse manure (those last two things bring up enough memories all by themselves). He was the happiest, friendliest, most lovable dog I'd ever known and he was all mine. 

These 6 years of growing up together are the most memorable for me, because they were happy. But the years that follow are the most significant because they were scary, and luckily Max was fearless. 

We moved away when my mom and step-dad divorced, and it was hard. We had to try and fit into a new life in the same neighborhood and forget about the family we had spent 6 years contributing to. Then another year and a half later we moved again--this time to California. As a 16 year old, emotional, teenager I was not happy. I remember having a small meltdown about the time that the move to California was becoming a reality. I sat on the floor of my room, arms around my knees, knees to my face, head down, sobbing uncontrollably, unaware of anything beyond the space I was confining myself to, when I felt a subtle nudge on my forearm from a wet, furry, nose. As I lifted my head up I saw Max, staring at me with a sad, knowing expression. He rested his head on my knees and looked up at me with a face saying "give me a hug, you'll feel better." I pulled him close and cried into his comforting, patient stance, losing myself in the darkness of his fur. He didn't pull away, he didn't try to leave, he just sat there waiting until I felt better. And pretty soon, I did. 

This isn't the only example of times when our "Roofie-roo" was emotionally there for me or my family, there are so many more. 

Max was so important to us kids that we always made him a  significant factor when it came to decision-making. Through all the transitions in the past 15 years, "But what about Max?" was a question that came up frequently. When my mom told us that she was divorcing my step-dad and we were moving out, we asked “But what about Max?” When we moved to California a year and a half later to a 700 square foot apartment we asked, “But what about Max?” When Max pretty much got us kicked out of said apartment because of his overprotective attitude, again we asked, “But Mom, what about Max?” Through countless moves, family drama, divorce, remarriage, moving out, moving in, moving on, Max was always there. Waiting at the door, tail wagging, heart pounding, ears up, ready to love. Amongst a sea of transitions and instability, Max was always there. 

Saying goodbye to Max is more than just saying goodbye to a beloved family pet. With all the family history that was contained in his relatively short life, I’m saying goodbye to an entire era. Max represented my childhood and now I feel like it’s officially over. I could tell you so much about Max, about how much I loved him, how much my siblings loved him, how much my mom loved him, even how much my dad loved him, how much he loved us, how devoted he was to our family, how he kept us all together by being the one thing that never changed. I wish I could tell everyone about how special he is and how much he meant to us. Not because he was just a pleasant dog, but because he was a part of my life, and his presence made all the difference. 

I will never forget the moment I shared with my mom and all my siblings. As Meredith and my mom helped lay him to rest, he closed his eyes before anything was even administered, and when they were ready to say goodbye, he took a big deep breath and just "let it all out"--all the years of chasing deer, ducks, foxes, kids, my mom, running, eating, sleeping, moving to new houses, loving, comforting, sleeping at bedsides, sneaking up on the couch, car rides, goodbye's, hello's, see ya later's, devotion--he just let it all go. As I sat on the phone with my mom listening to her cry with Meredith while they stayed with him after it was done, I listened to Gracie and Brody on speaker phone and we all mourned together. Even in his death, in a moment when we couldn't be physically there, he brought us all together, and for that I am forever grateful.                   

     

I love you Maxie, thanks for being my friend.