For The Love of a Dog Part 3

Part 3 -

As the days progressed and Maxwell began to find the courage to be more adventurous, he'd steal Tela's bone from her, and would come over to us when we had a dog biscuit for him.  What he really liked was to go out and sit on the back porch in the sunshine.  This worked well because I would sit on the step and it wasn't long before he'd be sitting next to me.

He also loved to play with Tela. He was a little scrapper;  Tela's size didn't intimidate him.  He was bound and determined to get the better of this nearly 100 pound Lab!  Try as he might he never could, even when he was full grown.

At the time we used a chain for Tela when she went out, 

(I know, that's cruel now) but she didn't seem to mind, she was a family dog, we never left her outside.  Besides it was better than having her hit by a car or lost.  But now with Maxwell we couldn't have two dogs on chains, they'd get hurt.   Plus Maxwell had already gotten hurt from Tela's chain while they played.   After discussing what type of fence we should get that Rick and I could both agree on, we went to purchase some fencing and supplies for a gate.  

 Freedom! That seemed to be what Tela was saying once the fence was up and the two of them were off…    running and wrestling. 

A few weeks went by and Maxwell was doing great!  He was playing, and barking and wagging his tail; I truly believe the Lord answered my prayers.  He wasn't always secure, but he was most of the time with me.   Other people was another matter, loud noises or the door bell ringing would send him scrambling to his "bed" that's what we had started calling the crate.  Even calling out a family members name loudly would cause him to shake with fear and panic.

One day I remember in particular, I had made French toast.  I like it smothered in butter and powdered sugar, Rick likes his with syrup.   I went out side with my food and sat on the back porch Maxwell following me sat beside me.  He now followed me everywhere even into the bathroom!   He hadn't ever had any people food, so he didn't beg.   He had come so far and was doing so well I wanted to give him something special, so I gave him a bite of my French toast.  Well he was hooked!  From that point on he begged, he whined, and generally looked pitiful whenever we ate. Always sitting under the table with a hopeful heart that something would be offered to him or something would fall off the table.  In case we might forget that he was there he would nudge his snout on one of our legs to remind us not to forget!

As the summer weaned away, life for everyone seemed to go on as normal.  Normal for everyone but me that is.  I found it difficult to be out and about and seeing people talking, or laughing and otherwise being out with their families, it was hard, for them nothing had changed, but for me it only amplified the fact that something was missing.  The obvious of course was that Timmy wasn't there.  But it was more than that.  Something was wrong inside of me; there was a type of numbness within my soul.  I wasn't necessarily sad, but I wasn't happy either.  The problem for me was that I struggled to feel anything at all.  However at this time in my life I hadn't yet identified that I wasn't experiencing any real feelings.  The sensation of joy or contentment had become absent in my life and I wasn't conscious of the fact that I had been without any meaningful feelings since before Timmy died.

Except for this little dog…   He was able to stir up emotions within me.  He was able to bring out emotions that were buried deep inside of me.  Perhaps that's why he was becoming my little buddy.  He went everywhere with me.

I remember one afternoon in particular.  Max and I went to pick up Jonathan from football practice.  Jonathan came running over to the car and asked if we could take a couple of his teammate's home from practice.

"Sure, not a problem, do they live near us?"  I was asking Jonathan when three huge young guys walk up to car.

I want you see the picture here.  My car was a little Daewoo, remember them?  You might be able to fit three normal sized people in the back seat, (and then it would have been a little tight) but three high school line backers was another story!

Before another word could be said the back door opened and these three guys started to pile into the car, with Maxwell on the floor hovering in terror!  I turned and called his name wanting to put him up front with Jon and me, but somehow these three guys had managed to squeeze into our car before Max could move out of the way!  Now I was horrified.  Meanwhile Jon had opened the trunk to put everyone's book bags in.

"Is my dog OK, where is he?"  I asked them, honestly thinking my little dog had ran out of the car when they got in because there was absolutely no room with all their legs twisted up for them to fit!  Not to mention their distorted bodies pressed up against the car doors!  Forget about seat belts!  If we were in an accident they weren't going anywhere!

"Oh yea,"  one boy said,  "He's under my feet."

"Under your feet?"  I asked.  "Can he breathe, is he OK?"

"Oh yea."  He answered.

Is that the only words he knows, I thought to myself?  Oh yea, it's OK, you're only killing my dog!

Well, I didn't want to embarrass my son by making them get out so I could get my dog.  Besides I wasn't sure they could get out, without a crane to pry them out!

As I dropped the first kid off I looked back frantically for Maxwell, all I could see was his backside sticking out from under the back of the front seat.  I called his name picturing my little buddy smushed!  But thankfully I saw his one back leg move is if he was trying to get even further under the seat, so I knew at least he was alive.

When the last boy was dropped off Maxwell still stayed there refusing to budge.  It wasn't until we were safely parked in our own drive way that Max started to wiggle his way out from under that seat.  To this day I cannot fathom how he ever managed to fit under it.  It was only three or four inches high and by then he weighed nearly thirty pounds!

Poor Max was traumatized!  He ran out of the car and to the back door without looking back, and when the door was opened, in he flew like a shot right to our bedroom and into his crate!  I feared I never get him to go back in the car again.

                Jonathan realized that Max was distressed from this escapade because he immediately went to find him.

                "I think Max might need you Mom,"  Jonathan said from the door way of our room. "He's shaking pretty bad."

                I was all too familiar with that feeling.  Many times after being in places with people I hardly knew, like school functions or church dinners where I was expected to be polite and carry on idle conversation…    well…   Maxwell was able to do what I only wished I could have done, run home where it was safe, to be by myself and hide!  

                "He'll be OK, I think he needs some time to himself."  I answered back.  Knowing that the last thing Max needed was for all of us to hover over him, he need time, he needed to gather himself together and chill!

                Maxwell didn't come out until it was nearly time to go to bed and then mostly likely because he needed out.  This night was like many other nights I'd lie in bed holding him next to me stroking his face and head.  I'd talk to him and tell him that I loved him and what a special little dog he was.  I told him that he was my polka-dotted puppy dog.  I'd talk and he'd listen, looking at me as if he understood, lying there intently heeding every word.  Max would try to snuggle even closer on those nights I would cry because I missed my youngest boy.   When I prayed he would sit there quietly next to me with his head down as if he knew Who I was speaking to.

                We were two very similar creatures, both hurt by the circumstances of life.  Living in a world that didn't seem to care or understand.  Needing someone to reach out without criticizing, without judging, someone who would accept us as we are.  Someone who would listen without getting upset by the way I felt, and wouldn't tell me what I should do…   or how I need to…    or that it was about time I get over it and move on.  Someone that if I was angry would allow me to be angry.  Someone that if I  had questions would allow me to ramble on and ask, without feeling threatened when they didn't have the answers.  Someone who could give me the assurance that I was going to be OK, that I would see Timmy again and that he was OK!  Someone who would allow me to scream and yell and shake my fist at the unfairness of life.  But then hold me quietly with their loving arms.

 I wanted to be that someone for Maxwell.  To allow this little creature to be the dog that he was -  frightened, nervous, distrusting, shy, and unsure of life and situations.  I would be the loving arms that would hold him and give him assurance.  I would not criticize him for not being like other dogs, I would allow him to be the little dog he was.  I would give him the space he needed, the time he needed to get through the difficulties he faced and to heal the wounds that life had so cruelly caused.   I was going to be the one who would love, love, and love him.