Max

This blog was created to be a place to document our lives in California.  Although, I'd like all posts to be about our fun new adventures, life doesn't always play fair.  Have to share the good with the bad.

Losing a pet is difficult.  To be honest, it's painful as hell.  For most of us, it's like losing a member of your family, as these little fury bundles of joy are your family. 

Last Tuesday the 3rd at around 9:30pm, we lost our Max to what the vet believes to have been a stroke, that took his live within minutes. 

It's been almost a week and I can now talk or think about him without breaking down and crying.  I slip up and call Oberon, Max or I see his food/water bowl that's been moved to the garage and I get choked up.  We go for a walk with Oberon and I don't have Max on a leash.  We went to the dog beach and dog park with Oberon, and Max wasn't with us.  That's when I have my most trouble.  I still hear his nails clicking on the floor, his grunts and groans as he lays down, or his constant heavy panting.  It's all in my head, but at times I swear I hear him.  I know all of this won't be going any anytime soon.

I haven't had many pets in my lifetime.  We had family dogs growing up, but they were outside dogs that were mostly my fathers.  My brothers and sister had dogs, but I never got close to any of them.  My first dog all to myself, was a beautiful Chow named Church.  I only had him a few years.  He died of heat exhaustion one hot summer afternoon.  That day nearly crushed me.  Recovering from him wouldn't be easy.  There was no dog like Church.  He was definitely one of a kind.

It took years before getting another dog.  My living and work situation never really was suited for having someone to take care of and train, exercise and love.  When I did get another dog, they never measured up to my Church.  I always felt distant with them. I loved them and took care of them, but there was something missing between us.  That bond that normally should be there, was not.

I swore off dogs for the longest time.  I couldn't handle the thoughts of getting attached and losing them.  I didn't want to get another dog and for some reason, not feel that bond that typically instantly happens.

Eleven years ago, we got a call from a friend who said that a local church nearby had a baby play pen full of puppies and that we needed to go check them out.  On a whim, we headed down there and my heart sank and I knew I wasn't leaving there without one.  I was going to invest my heart and soul in to this puppy.  Max was the only shorthair out of the bunch and was just the cutest little thing.  His mama was pure Sharpei and the rest we never figured out. 

He was the perfect puppy.  He only twice went to the bathroom in the house and he only chewed on something once.  Within a couple months, he had free roam of the entire house and we never had a problem with him.

Over the years, he grew a bit grumpy.  Had a really bad experience at the vet and ever since then, he was leery of people in general, especially visits to the vet.  A the vet, he became the asshole.  Taking him there, caused so much anxiety in myself, I knew he fed off of it.  Steven typically had take over, while I went out to the waiting room. 

He was a dog that loved us both unconditionally and loved being around other dogs, but people in general was another story.  Once he got to know you though, everything was fine and you would be hard pressed to get him to leave you alone.

He became one of the many joys of my life. 

We thought moving to California might be difficult on the dogs, but we noticed within a few days that they both seemed so happy.  Especially Max.  His curved tail was standing back up, his hips were feeling better and for a dog with a heavy furry coat, he was loving the California temperatures.  No more stifling Texas heat. 

He seemed so happy. 

Fast forward to last Tuesday night, he and our Wolf Hound mix Oberon were in a mood.  Jumping around and playing so hard.  We had to eventually try and calm them down.  Max was excited and happy and everything seemed fine.  Around 9:30, he threw up his food.  This wasn't odd, because some times when they play hard and try to eat and drink a lot, their stomach doesn't stay settled and food can come right back up.  Then he did it again and I noticed at that time, he seemed a bit wobbly.  Something was wrong.

We helped him out to the back patio where it was cool and he almost immediately collapsed.  This was serious and I had that sinking feeling that at the age of 11 years, this might be it.  While holding, petting him and saying I loved him over and over, Steven was getting blankets for us to get him wrapped up and taken to the emergency vet. 

We knew what was happening by that point.  We wouldn't make it to the vet, and if we did, I don't think it would have made any difference.

While holding him in the back seat, he made one last attempt to get up, then went completely limp in my arms.  My baby had passed away. 

I'm completely heartbroken.  This past 6 days have been awful and just want to put it all behind me. I'll need time though.  I can't just jump back into getting another dog.  I need time to heal my heart. We both do.  I'll let the universe drop a dog in my lap one of these days.  Some day that will happen, but not right now. 

Right now I want to remember one of the best dogs in the world whom I miss dearly.

Love you Max.