Volume 2, Issue 1

Summer 2006

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Max was full of unconditional love and trust as he descended the stairway for the final time that Saturday morning. He carried that love and trust with him all the way to the Jeep, where he was carefully hoisted into the back for his last road trip. Dogs are like that—they will love and trust us to do the right thing with every ounce of their being. To a dog, there is no greater hero than his Master. Some hero I turned out to be.

It was the right decision. “Accidents” in the house were on the rise and Max’s hip was all out of whack. Poor eyesight and hearing also plagued Max during his 15th and final year. The tipping point for me, though, occurred when Max didn’t even recognize our daughter, Melissa, when she came home. Believe me, Max loved Melissa like nobody’s business. After all, he was her “Christmas Puppy” years and years ago. Sadly, he didn’t even know she was there.

Still, I can’t help but feel that I somehow betrayed Max. He trusted me as we pulled out of the driveway and yet I let him down in the biggest way possible. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried like a baby as we waited together for the vet to arrive (shoot, even the Governor of California would have cried buckets at a time like this). The end came quick for Max. “When they go that quickly, it means you made the right decision,” the Vet said in a reassuring tone.

It took several weeks, but I’ve finally allowed all the great memories of Max to crowd out the sadness of his last days. Max was a super dog, a friend to all, with the personality of the greatest Goodwill Ambassador that ever lived. But the best news of all is that Max is in a better place now, living pain-free with a perfect hip and the keen vision needed to be on the lookout for the rest of his family, especially Melissa, the great love of his life.