Max

I love my dog, Max.  He chose me to be his ‘mom’ in July of 2001, when I was going to the pound daily for about 3 weeks, looking for our dog (Rosebud) who got lost on the 4th of July.  He was the only dog there who didn’t bark or jump up at the cage door.  He just sat there, with his sad little Saint Bernard eyes and would tilt his head at me, every time.  After a few days of this (and of not finding Rosebud) I mentioned to the pound employee that I was surprised the dog was still there.  His reply was that several people had shown an interest in him, but unfortunately no one had adopted him and he was scheduled to be put down.  My heart was already broken about my own dog, and knowing that this other dog was going to be put down just broke it even more.  So I begged, begged Jeremy to just come down and meet him.  We spent about an hour in the yard at the pound, and we were both impressed with his demeanor.  He wasn’t neutered yet and it was the weekend, so we had to wait until Monday afternoon to pick him up from the vet’s.  I spent the entire time picking out a name for him – my sister suggested Travis, I had a list a mile long and I don’t even remember what was on it.  Jeremy and I had recently watched The Gladiator and he wanted to go with the name Maximus.  So it stuck.  Upon picking him up, we learned he weighed 65 pounds.  A month later, he weighed 80 pounds!  So for awhile there I called him Maxi-moose.  He healed my broken heart, although I still to this day cry when I think about Rosebud.  Time went on and we ended up with two more dogs, Yellow Labs – Cage and Tank.  Why we ended up with both of them is a bit of a story, but this is about Max so I’ll have to save it for later.  The three of them went on a bit of a crazy animal-attacking spree when we moved to our ranch, and after a bunch of different things didn’t work, we found a home for Tank.  He is very happy at his “new” home, and for a couple of years now, Max and Cage have been content to eat dog food.  But.  A couple of months ago Max found a baby pygmy goat sleeping in a food trough and he ate it.  Horrible, I know.  I was so disgusted.  But it was  in a food trough, after all, and hey, anyone can make an honest mistake.  Now it’s spring, and we’re having baby goats it seems like every other day around here.  So last week, Jeremy walked up on Max eating TWO baby goats.  He couldn’t even be satisfied with ONE, he had to take BOTH of them.  The were twins, and their mom’s first babies ever.  She bawled for days, and I was so disgusted with Max.  Again.  We don’t let the dogs just roam around, they stay in a very decent sized back yard, but we let them out when we are outside.  Today the girls were swinging on the swings (which I was originally going to post about – I’ll have to do that one later) and I let the dogs out.  Cage was hanging around by the swing set and I told Alison, “We have to keep an eye on Max, because I’m afraid he’ll find a way into the goat pen again.”  Not a minute later, I do another quick scan and there he is, dragging a goat out of the pen.  I don’t even know how he’s getting IN there.  But this time he picked a month-old goat and it wasn’t as easy to kill. I screamed at him the whole time as I ran over there, but he just didn’t even register that I was there until I was beating him over the head, trying to get him to let go of the goat.  The poor thing, it was in shock and couldn’t stand up.  I hate animal abusers and would never have thought myself capable, but I admit I kicked Max in his rear because he was still standing there, looking like he was about to grab the goat again.  He ran off with his tail between his legs.  Cage had been watching this from a distance and ran over to me, and I completely confused him by screaming at him, too.  So then he ran off, but just to the road, where he sat watching me.  I picked up the little tiny goat and cradled her in my arms.  She was all wet and had a small amount of blood where Max had sunk his teeth into her back.  Jeremy says she’s paralyzed and probably won’t make it.  And no matter how much I have loved Max all these years, I can’t have him here anymore.  It kills me and breaks my heart (again), but we’re going to find him a home.  Because he really is a great dog, as long as there aren’t any goats around.