Goodbye, Max

Max is my granddog. Max must be 14 years old, maybe 15. I don’t remember exactly when Brian called me to tell me he was going to get a dog, but it was around the time he became Artistic Director at American Blues Theatre in Chicago in 1997. Brian and his first wife had divorced, and he was living alone. Brian missed having a dog, but he worked long hours some days, and couldn’t afford to hire a regular pet care giver. Once settled in at ABT, he could take a dog with him to work. So he went to the Humane Society and after a couple of visits, Brian met Max, a chow/Australian shepherd mix about a year old. To be truthful, I hadn’t really taken to the two dogs Brian and his first wife had; there was nothing wrong with them, but I’m finicky about dogs. Sometimes it’s the smell, sometimes it’s the look, or it could be that they slobber, or something I can’t explain. But when Brian described Max to me, I knew I’d like him. When I met him several months later, I knew the minute I saw him, at the theatre, behind a half-door, as he ran to meet me and stood with two hind legs on the floor and two paws on the top of the half-door, that I‘d already fallen in love with Max. He was just the right size--not too big, not too small. He looked the way a dog should look, with bright dark eyes and a pointy-ish nose, like a German Shepherd or Siberian Husky. He didn’t smell, he didn’t slobber, he just looked at me and knew who I was. Brian said, “Of course he knows you. I’ve told him all about you and that you were coming to town today. He knew it was you.”

Whenever I’d visit Chicago, Max would meet me at the door with his tug rope toy. You know, the rope knotted at both ends, and the dog pulls one end and you pull the other. [Turns out, Max met just about everyone at the door with the tug rope; it wasn’t just me.] I’d take Max for walks when I visited, giving Brian a bit of a break, and Max showed me all about the neighborhood Brian lived in. I learned the places where other dogs lived, and the good-smelling trees, and the best places for a dog to go. I loved it.

Brian drove with Max to San Jose in ‘98 to celebrate his (Brian’s) grandfather’s 90th birthday, with stops in Colorado to visit a theatre friend, and in Oklahoma to visit his father. Max’s first trip to the ocean was delightful, and he managed to get a good romp on the beach and dug a few holes almost to China before a disembodied voice told us to leash the dog. Well, we’d had our fun; time to go back home.

When Brian met his wife Gloria, their love of dogs was just one of the many things they had in common. Not just both of them liking dogs, but what their respective dogs had meant to them at difficult times in their lives. When Glo’s dog Buddy and Max met, they got along from the beginning, and were great friends until Buddy died in 2007. When Brian and Glo brought Beau, a beautiful Sheltie, home a few months later, Max accepted him as if he’d known him forever.

The last couple of years have been difficult for Max. At his human age of almost 100, Max has been slowing down. He had surgery for a leg problem. Going up the stairs to Brian and Glo’s bedroom has become so difficult for him that Brian has had to make a sling to support Max, particularly as he descends the stairs. Brian told me today the same leg problem is now affecting Max’s other hind leg.

“It’s time to let Max go”, Brian said yesterday, and I could tell he was choking up. Hey, I was choking up! They know a vet who will come to the dog’s house, to lessen the trauma for dog and parents. Tonight, by 5:00 pm my time, Max will be gone.

I needed to write this now, because tonight I will be too sad. I love Max, and I wish I’d been able to hold him and tell him myself. But Brian will tell him and Max will know. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Goodbye, Max, my first real granddog, my friend. Thank God Brian had you for the last 13 years. We shall all miss you.