Remembering Max, The Best Pup Ever

Though I grew up in a household with pets and have had numerous pets throughout my adult life, I wouldn’t call myself an “animal lover.” I like animals, but I don’t get giddy every time I see a puppy or kitten. I don’t fawn over them or speak in “baby talk” to them—I generally give them a pat on the head and go about my day.

Max. My sweet pup, Max, was the exception.

Many years ago, I read Dean Koontz’s book “A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog.” I’ve read many Koontz books over the years, and several of these featured canine characters, specifically golden retrievers. The back cover of all his books that I can recall features a picture of him and his golden retriever. So, when my mom recommended this book, which told the story of his beloved golden retriever, Trixie, I was intrigued. I knew the story would feature many happy memories from over the years, but ultimately have a sad ending. Animals don’t live as long as humans do—it’s just a fact of life.

When I read this book, I thought I empathized with Koontz. I naively believed I understood what he and his wife felt and experienced when they lost Trixie. I’ve lost pets over the years, and I grieved for them when they left this world. However, I now realize that I understood nothing. Losing a pet is sad; losing your once-in-a-lifetime pet is a different kind of grief altogether.

I know pets don't live as long as us, but 15 years flew by... it wasn't long enough

July of 2009. I had been searching for a dog for several months but couldn’t find one that seemed like the right fit. I wanted a dog that wasn’t too big, not too small, was already house-trained, and good with kids. Then one day, a co-worker sent out a mass email stating that she was looking for a good home for her 9-month-old Shih Tzu puppy. He had all the qualifications I was looking for. It was kismet. I took one look at the picture and knew this was meant to be my dog. I told her I would take him, and the following weekend, Max joined our family. The first thing he did when he walked into the living room? He took a look around, then pooped on the floor.

Max passed away on June 28, 2024, at almost 16 years of age. I’d known for a while that the end would come sooner rather than later. His arthritis had slowly gotten worse over the last two years. He’d become unable to jump onto or off of the couch—he would come stand by the couch and stare at me or Will until one of us picked him up. He even stopped doing that a few months ago, choosing instead to lay in his dog bed. His hearing had progressively been getting worse over the last year until he was almost completely deaf at the end. When he started having a hard time navigating the stairs last year, I attributed it to his arthritis, not realizing that he was losing his vision as well. All this to say, even though I knew he was getting to the end of his life, I still wasn’t prepared to not have him here anymore. Though it was only 15 years, it seems like he’s always been a part of my life.

What made Max special? Nothing in particular...

He loved toys. This little Shih Tzu would rip any toy to shreds within days. If it had a squeaker, which was his favorite kind of toy, he’d rip that toy open and get the squeaker out in minutes. As soon as you threw a toy on the ground, he’d run and grab it, then violently whip his head around to show it who was boss. After a while, he’d go lay in his bed and gnaw on it like it was a bone. His old toys are now in a corner of the living room – I can’t bear to put them away just yet.

Nothing excited Max more than car rides. This pup LOVED to go for a ride. A surefire way to get his attention was to say, “Max, wanna go for a ride?” He learned how to stand in just the right spot to press the button and roll his window down so he could stick his head out. After a while, he’d take a break and pop his head back in to catch his breath, then back out he’d go. He hated when I would roll the window up and lock it—he had no respect for the fact that when it’s 95 degrees out in South Louisiana, you don’t ride with the window down. I miss our car rides.

Max was never a “fat” dog, though Will would argue that he was a little chunky. He wasn’t. But he loved to eat. Even at the end of his life, with his health problems and low energy, he still had a healthy appetite. Though he knew the only times there would be food in his bowl was after his routine daily walks – which he devoured immediately – he frequently checked his bowl to make sure a morsel hadn’t been left behind. I can still hear the sound of him rattling the bowl around… We didn’t give Max scraps very often, though he always stood and stared at us while we ate, hoping that we’d take pity on him and share something. On those occasions when we did share a bite of food with him, he never took it aggressively. He would take it ever-so-gently from you, making sure not to nip your finger. He was always a gentleman.

Other than the last few months of his life, Max would be in the kitchen any time I was cooking. I think this is one of the things I miss the most. He would just hang around and keep me company, all the while hoping I would drop him some samples of what I was preparing. If it were chicken, I always complied. But mostly he would just hang out, and I would talk to him all the while I was prepping and cooking. I would just talk about whatever was on my mind, saying, “You know what I mean, Max?” Obviously, he didn’t understand anything I was saying, but I just loved having him there with me. He was my little companion; my sidekick. Now the kitchen is silent; just me and my thoughts.

I’ve been around many dogs in my life. Some were very friendly, and others, not so much. I’ve always been aware that even a sweet, gentle dog can act out when you bring a new baby into the home. But Will and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we never had to worry about Max when we brought William home from the hospital. It wasn’t a case of us being naïve or biased; we just instinctively knew that Max would never, ever be aggressive towards this new person in his life. And we were right. Max instantly became William’s guardian. I think he believed it was his duty to look out for him and love him. Not once did he growl at William, snap at him, step on him—nothing. He would just follow him around the house. They’d sit together and watch TV or play video games. If William was bathing, Max was sitting in the bathroom keeping him company. Max insisted on sleeping in William’s room, so we finally moved his bed in there. After William got a little older he insisted that Max sleep on his bed; Max was happy to comply. When William woke up in the morning, they would get up together and hang out on the couch until either Will or I got up. They were best buds.

What really made Max special?

As I said, nothing in particular made Max “special.” It was everything. He was always good-tempered; always gentle. Max had the sweetest little face. Any time someone showed up at our house, he would bark like crazy. The second you came inside, he was your instant best friend – he never met a stranger. He loved being scratched behind the ear and on his hindquarter – if you hit the right spot his leg would start kicking. Even when I took hours to groom him or accidentally shot water up his nose during his bath, he never fidgeted or acted up. Max tolerated the girls dressing him up in costumes and pushing him around in a baby stroller. He loved riding on the tractor with Will and William so he could be close to his boys. When William was away, Max would sit and stare out the front door, waiting for him to come home. And he would lay by me on the couch for hours, watching trash TV or napping. I think what made him special is that he loved us as much as we loved him. He was more than just a dog – he was part of our family; he was one of us.

No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give themselves to another as a dog gives of itself.

excerpt from "A big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog"

Every time I walk by William’s room, I still glance in to check on Max. I know the day will come when he’ll have been gone so long that this habit will fall off—I won’t be looking for him anymore. And that’s what breaks my heart the most.

I knew that letting Max go would be devastating, and that I would never be “ready” to say good-bye. But the profound sadness, the hole in my heart, is not something I was prepared for. Yet the one thing that gives me comfort is that we were able to be with Max, surrounding him with love when he took his last breath. I am eternally grateful to Dr. Emily with Lap of Love, who came to our home and provided our sweet pup with a peaceful end-of-life experience. Max’s last moments on earth were at home, in his bed, with his family. But I would give anything to see that sweet little face, with those big beautiful eyes, looking up at me one last time.