I really feel like a major Debbie Downer blogger lately, but I figured since my memories of my big brother are permanently out here on the interwebs, I should also create a semi-permanent memorial to my 2nd hairiest best friend whom I also lost recently: My little pup, Max. Even typing his name here now and remembering him is causing tears to start to leak out of my face. I’m gonna need a box of Kleenex. Hang on.
(Insert Jeopardy! theme here)
Ok, I’m back. Who knew it’d be so hard to find Kleenex in this house? Apparently I’m not very snotty.
Anyway… You know, I always thought those people who took days off work to mourn the loss of a pet were insane. Until my Max. I’ve had dogs my entire life, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved any like I loved my Max. I fell in love with his little tiny furry Ewok face the first time I laid eyes on him as a pup, sitting alone in his cage, the last left of his litter. Actually, I should say WE fell in love with him, and by ‘we’, I mean, of course, my roommate, who is Max’s daddy. I suppose he loved him as much as I did. It was sorta hard not to. He was our baby. Our alarm clock. Our snuggle buddy. The dog who once tried to bite my face off. Our spoiled little lovable brat. Max could make me laugh on my worst day; The way he spun around in excited circles whenever we’d say the word ‘outside’, or ‘bone’; The way he’d wake us up by standing on top of us and staring directly into our faces; The way he growled every time we tried to kiss him, almost like he was saying “C’mon, I’m not a little kid any more!”. I loved him more than I even know how to express. So when he was diagnosed with cancer, we vowed we’d spend any amount of money and do whatever it took to keep him with us as long as possible. When he stopped eating, we syringe fed him baby food, heavy cream, Pedialite- Anything to try to bring back our healthy, energetic little pup. But as it turns out, Max was more tired than we thought. Odd timing, the fact that he started to go severely downhill the night my big brother passed, almost as if he knew that Jon needed a companion.
His last day on Earth was spent at his favorite park, and snuggling on the couch with us- His two favorite pastimes. I remember he kept looking at us with his big brown eyes, like he was trying to comfort us and tell us it was going to be ok. I think I told him I loved him approximately 8,428 times that day. I take comfort in the fact that I’m pretty sure he knew how lucky he was and how much he was loved. I mean, what other dog gets steak and eggs for breakfast while his mom eats Special K? He had a great life. A great life that was cut way too short.
So now, we grieve. Every day. I miss how happy I felt when Jon and Max were both here, even though I’m slowly but surely recovering. I cry for my brother, for my dog, and I hope and pray that they’re up there together, just waiting for me to get there. Hopefully Jon knows how to cook a steak. Because Max loves that shit.
Love you forever, little Max. Momma and Daddy miss you.