This is Max. He was quite a character. For eight years, he was my very best furry friend. When we arrived back home after our stay in Colorado, Max suddenly became very ill. I thought it was a urinary tract infection. He’d had them twice before, but I had always been able to tell something was wrong before he actually got sick from it.
I had noticed that he wasn’t quite his normal, chipper self earlier in the day, but we all have off days and it didn’t seem serious. But that night, Max had an accident and wet our bed. He woke me up climbing on top of me. I realized the end of the bed was very wet and I could see that Max was very upset. We cleaned everything up. Got Max settled and called the vet first thing the next morning.
I was cheerful, Max seemed okay, I thought well we’ll get him checked out and go home with an antibiotic. I was so wrong. The vet ran tests, came back and told me Max had
Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia. What? I’d never heard of it and I’ve had many animals. His blood counts were very very low but there was a glimmer of good news, his body was still making new red blood cells. I walked out of the office very hopeful with a whole lot of pharmaceuticals. I was determined to make my boy better. She wanted to see him in three days. I told the tech on the way out that Max was going to be fine. He was only eight. The look of sadness on her face and the slight shake of her head told a different story, but I tried to remain positive.
I took my boy home and I cried and held him a lot. He tried so hard and that in itself was heart wrenching. He kept licking my face like he was telling me he was sorry for making me so sad. I prayed and cried some more, but Maxie did not get better. I took him back to the vet a day early and his blood counts were even worse, which seemed impossible. The vet said we could try transfusions, which I’d already read about. They were not often successful and the dog usually had to receive repeated, multiple transfusions. I wasn’t willing to put Max through that for many reasons, other than the technician shaking her head and telling me it wouldn’t work.
The vet told us we could take him home to say goodbye for a couple of more hours. He wasn’t in pain, just very weak. Our daughters wanted to see him too. So we all spent several hours crying, spoiling and loving Max. As weak as he was, he still liked treats.
To lose a dog that has become your best friend, almost like a furry soulmate is devastating. My heart remains broken. It is, of course, a different loss than losing a human family member, but the hurt and the missing them is just as painful.
For awhile, I felt guilty for feeling so grief-stricken over Max. I cried myself to sleep for many nights because his sweet head was not perched on my leg and is warm heavy body wasn’t pressed against my side. It had been there for eight years. People would look at me weird and tell me he was just a dog.
They were right, he was a dog. A dog that shared every moment of his life with me. A dog that smiled at me, was goofy with me, cried with me, grieved with me, listened to every worry, fear and story tirelessly and without judgement. We played, exercised, sat in the snow, watched the rain out the window waiting on my husband to get home together; we did everything together. If I’d break down in tears missing my dad or my mom, his sweet little face would be poked into mine and his gentle little head would sit on my shoulder when I pulled him in for a hug.
He wagged his tail every time I spoke and when he heard his name, he would sit up to see where we were going or what we were eating. If I was out of his sight for just two seconds, I got the same butt wiggly excitement when I returned as when I’d been gone for hours. If I was grouchy or short, he didn’t care, I’d feel his soft little tongue on my arm or a wet poke of his nose as if to say that nothing can be too bad cause I’m here with you. And it never was!
His soulful, brown eyes were always focused on me, even if it was just one that peeped open from his nap. He was always ready to play, go for a walk, sit in my lap, share my dinner. Every evening when he decided I’d spent enough time not paying him attention, I’d get his favorite blue doggy toy rubbed down my arm or tossed into my lap because he decided it was time to play fetch or tug of war.
He was even polite about asking to go outside. He’d position himself near one of us and he’d try very hard to make eye contact. If we failed to notice him, he’d poke or lick a leg or an arm gently and then walk to the door. He was always a good boy, he never chewed on much and he was easy to housebreak. Really Max never did anything but make all of us very happy.
Max was just a dog but so much more. If people could take a lesson from dogs, this world would be a better place. Maxie was my angel, my joy, my heart song. He taught me that love is an endless commodity. No matter how much love we give away, we always have more to give. He taught me how to overcome grief, because it’s alway okay to love again. The love you give to a new animal or person can never take away the love you gave to another person or animal. God has given us love without end.
I found this poem by an unknown author that says it better than I ever could, “It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life, gifts me a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.”
