We adopted Max just three years ago. He had been fostered by a lovely Maplewood family. We went to their house to meet him and there was something about Max’s big ears and crooked smile that made us fall in love with him right away. 

It did take Max a while to adjust to family life. He had been found on the streets of Puerto Rico, and it appeared that he had lived on the streets for his entire life. When we first brought him home, he would eat anything — he was so worried about when his next meal would come. His favorite snacks were socks, paper towels and an occasional pair of underwear. It was months before he realized that his food bowl would be filled twice a day. 

And the list of quirky behavior didn’t stop at food. Walking him was always a bit of a challenge. Our gentle dog would turn into Cujo if he saw another dog. His tough bark would scare off anyone walking their dogs in the neighborhood . . . or mail carriers . . . or UPS drivers . . . or the pool cleaners . . . or the lawn crews . . . even a few of our family members. As fierce as his bark was, Max never hurt anyone or anything. Except that one groundhog that he found in our backyard a few years ago . . .

Over time, Max relaxed and settled into our family. He loved playing and snuggling with Tupelo. He would limit his ferocious bark to one or two to greet our guests. He learned that he couldn’t sit on us as we tried to drive, but if he gave us one of his sweet smiles, he and Tupelo could take over any piece of furniture in the house. And, like all creatures, Max quickly fell in love with Jack. As crazy as Max could get, he never put our boy in danger. His favorite spot was on the couch next to Jack or getting a head scratch from Anna.

During the holidays we noticed that Max’s once monstrous appetite had slowed. We went to the veterinarian several times and hoped that it was an easy fix, but after a couple of months of decline, it was confirmed last week that Max had cancer. We’d hoped that he would have some time, but his decline was dramatic. His veterinarian came to the house last night and Dan and I held him as we said goodbye.

3 ½ years is not enough. We’re all trying to appreciate that it’s the quality of life not the quantity of years lived, but this is hitting us hard. 

Love, Jess