Yesterday was a bad day for me - a really, really bad day. Among the badness was a broken garage door spring, a diagnosis that the garage door itself was bad (and I lack the funds to replace that right now), something horrible happening to my car as it went over a bump & my steering going to hell, and smashing my finger in a door.
The worst, worst part was my wife finding Max, our 10 year old golden retriever, lying dead on the patio. What made this such a shock was that our beagle was the one that had been deathly sick with congestive heart failure. Max was acting depressed, but we thought it was because of the other dog being sick. Both dogs were scheduled for a vet appointment only a few hours after Max passed away.
I know, all dogs are special. Max was more like a young boy than an old dog. He did have arthritis, but he had medication that allowed him to enjoy his favorite past time - chasing around the yard as cars made the turn in front of our house. Max never, ever gave anyone any trouble. He was kind of the neighborhood dog. People knew where we lived because we had the bouncy golden retriever. He was part Brittany Spaniel, which added bounce. I always thought we could have named him “Tigger”.
Max came to us about 9 years ago. He had been found wandering the streets of Detroit and had gone through several Humane Society locations before I found him. He found me, actually. I was looking for a small dog. He claimed me that day & I brought him home.
He adopted my wife. She is not a huge fan of dogs, either. Max followed her, watched out for her, laid at her feet or nearby where he could see her. She is just crushed by his death.
Max, you were a good boy. Thank you for adopting all of us and watching out for us all these years. We will miss you. May you get lots of treats in heaven.