Just a Dog part 8

Not the Dog You Think It Is.

When I say “my dog Max” most of my family think of the albino Sharpei that lived a short, tumultuous life with my parents and me when I was fourteen (or so). Typically that’s what I would be speaking of if I were to mention my dog, Max. However, there was another dog named Max. One I had before the infamous one that everyone knows.

Few people think of this other dog because I had him for such a very short time. On reflection, it feels like only a month, but it was probably between two or three months total. My dad got him. It was always dad getting the dogs for a big part of my life, from somebody. Dad got him specifically for me.

A Little Firecracker

Max was still a puppy, though he was ten or eleven months, so he wouldn’t get much bigger than when I got him. He was small, a pug mixed with a terrier, with a short nose, though not flat. He was also black and had little floppy ears.

He was an unruly little monster. He liked to chase things. Fetch wasn’t something that he understood, but he would run after stuff. He was also high energy. He also thought he was much tougher than he was. Little dog syndrome, we called it.

In my memory, I got him at the end of spring, but that could be wrong. It may have been the end of the fall. But mid-march seems more accurate.

Mom tolerated him like she did all the dogs. Dad liked him, and I adored him. He was full of personality. He was the first dog that was specifically mine. All the other dogs were dads or siblings, but Max was my dog.

The Protagonist of My World

I looked forward to seeing him every day after school. We’d always play for a little while. He’d follow me around while I brought in wood, goof around in the yard, or just be lost in my imaginary world.

With Max, I invented an entire fantasy land. He was king of his domain. To the west were the lands of my brother’s dogs. To the northwest were the kingdoms of my sister’s dog. Immediately to the north were cities of the prairie dogs, which I likened to dwarves, and beyond that were the lands of the elves (cats).

Political theater played out in my mind. Armies moved and encroached on each other. Territories were won and lost. Max sat on his throne or rode out ahead of his troops, leading them. It was a fantasy. It kept me occupied while I went about my work or goofed around outside.

I soon fell into a routine where I would come home, get Max, and we’d play outside. Sometimes I’d go in and leave him out for a little while. Other times I’d be out there with him till the sun began to set.

Max is Gone

One day I came home, and he was nowhere to be found. Mom had let him out not too long before I had got home. Sometime in that short period, Max disappeared. I called for him. I roamed around the property. I called my brother and my sister, who were the only actual nearby neighbors at the time. I think mom may have contacted the fellow who lived further east of my brother, but no luck.

Max never did turn back up. Unlike One Gallon, I do not to this day know what happened to him. I was devastated. I called for him every day after school for weeks. I’d get home each day with the vain hope that he’d be inside the house or even sitting on the front porch waiting for me.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. If either of my parents ever found out what happened to that little firecracker of a black dog, they never told me. Most of my siblings, and nieces and nephews probably don’t remember him. The other dog called Max supplanted him. The one that most of my family thinks of when I mention a dog named Max.

*There are no pictures of Max. The above photo isn't too far off. His nose was a bit longer.