Chris Brady
My last post on the blog was about writing. I wrote about a technical topic because my emotions were in turmoil. Behind
the scenes that week, I was grieving; my dog was dying of cancer. That day, we helped him over that last
hurdle.
I had all of these emotions inside of me: love, loss, and
grief. I couldn’t bear to write
about him then, but four weeks later, I want to remember Max through words and
pictures.
Max was a noble beast. He looked like a lab pit bull mix,
but Bernie declared him a “Lord Cheltenham terrier” to impress the fancy breed owners at the dog park. He was 11 years old when we learned he had cancer last February, technically
a senior, but we felt robbed. We were
hoping for a few more years with him. Thanks to the wonder drug prednisone, we got six more months with him after learning the diagnosis.
There was nothing extraordinary about Max; he never learned
any tricks -- no fetch, no shake hands, no speak. Yet we found him to be a wise
old soul, almost from the very beginning. In retrospect, his best trick was training
us.
Since Bernie is retired and I am not, he and Max spent a lot
of time together and they became well known as a couple. They spent their days together at the
dog park and napping or working in the yard. I saw a funny resemblance in Max and Bernie’s facial
expressions and they really seemed to have similar moods and emotions. Max’s bark even reminded me of Bernie’s
voice. (His death has been doubly tough on Bernie.)
Max acquired champagne tastes, favoring triple crème brie as
an evening appetizer and beef tips and chicken tenders sautéed in broth for
dinner. For two empty nesters like
us, Max could just look at us with those soulful eyes and bark softly, a kind of "Rrrrufff" and we would
respond. “Good people,” I imagine
him thinking.
Once Max convinced us that he was too special to leave
behind in a kennel, vacations became motor trips in the US. We found great (and some not so
great) dog friendly cabins in the mountains in New York, West Virginia, North Carolina,
Maryland, Georgia and Pennsylvania. Our best adventure was a cross-country drive
to see my nephew (another crazy dog lover) in Oregon.
It’s been four weeks now and our grief has waned to occasional
sighs. But the house still feels
like something is missing: the corner of the living room, the bottom of the bed,
under the dining room table and so many places bear his shadow. I come home from
work to a loving husband, but I miss the barking and happy face that made me feel special and needed.
Being needed -- I think that’s what a dog gives you. Some people look at them as burdens, but they give so much in return. As much
as walking in the cold weather at night is not at the top of my list, I miss it
so. Strolling at peeing pace,
enjoying the changing seasons, noticing the moon and stars, meeting an occasional skunk or possum, and just being happy in the
moment with Max.
I’m ending this post with a photo essay to show you a slice
of our life with Max. You’ll know
the song well; it’s a classic. I have sung this song to Max with slightly
different lyrics, replacing one important word. You will know what it is. The words seem a perfect
description of the dog-people love story to me.
Sing it to your dog and you will see what I mean.
My Dog from Christine Brady on Vimeo.
