Yesterday I was at my dreamy man-friend’s place and we decided to go out for lunch. As we were heading out the driveway I noticed a handsome pooch on his porch.
“DESIST DRIVING” I called out to my man-friend as I rolled out the door to greet the man’s-best-friend.
Okay, I didn’t say, “desist driving”, nor did I roll. It was more a “hang on, is that a dog on your front porch?”
Anyway, I got out to greet the lost canine. I named him Huxley.
He was beautiful. He was docile and friendly. A tan cattle dog, with a grey muzzle, I would have picked him to be about 12 years old. He was stocky just like Max, and in a way he reminded me of my childhood pet.
A few years ago I remember my friend being devastated because her dog had died. I was appropriately sad for her, but in my head I was like, “it’s a dog, it’s not like you lost a limb”. When Max died it was like I lost a part of myself. It is a pain like no other. It still is.
There’s this song by Sia called Lentil which reminds me of him. I cry every time I hear it. I’m glad that no songs remind me of my nana - boy would we be in trouble!
I remember being about 13. I was a mess at 13; I was fat and awkward and fit pretty much all the criteria for being emo (except for having cool hair, curse this fair mane!). I remember lying on the floor one afternoon, and Max came over and lay with me.
He sat there with me through my crying and my need for him to be there and he just understood me.
I remember thinking *this* is love; I will never love anyone as much as I love this dog.
Pretty deep for 13. Sadly I wasn’t wrong.
There’s an innocence with the love of a childhood pet which can never be recreated. When we got Max I was 9. I had never experienced a heartbreak, a severe disappointment, any loss at all. My heart was open and bountiful.
I participated in a dog walkers club with a few of my friends in primary school. You had to have a dog to join, and Max was my ticket in! We used to explore the Aranda bushlands and give each other homemade medals for the “best dog” and other arbitrary achievements which changed on a weekly basis.
Max could’ve won all of them. He was smart, handsome and funny. I remember one afternoon my cousin was chewing on the end of a piece of straw she found, and Max was interested in what she was doing, so he slowly climbed up the couch to get to her mouth and he gently took the straw from her. The look on her face was priceless.
I have lots of Max memories. And still a lot of Max love.
Max died in June 2010.
I was at work when mum called me and told me we would be putting him down that evening. My supervisor at the time had a dog, so naturally let me leave to be with my childhood companion. There’s a camaraderie with us dog-lovers.
Max was getting senile, but his love for mum was keeping him alive. He followed her everywhere; through the arthritis and back problems and unfortunate incontinence. That dog was a model of devotion.
Mum’s mum (my nana) was dying and going through chemo, and was due to live with my parents in under a month. It was too much to ask for mum to look after both her mother and a dog who loved her too much, so we made the call to let him go.
The procedure was sad. Max didn’t take his eyes off mum. The vet came out with the green syringe and we all hugged and kissed Max goodbye. He was so calm. He licked my hand goodbye. When the needle went in it was as if he was just putting his head down to go to sleep. It was unreal.
He’s now buried in our front yard. I think about him often.
These memories made me instantly fall in love with Huxley. My boyfriend and I took him to the pound, and I was a bit teary seeing him so trusting and enthusiastic. The pound-keeper scanned him for his microchip and I stood with my anxiety and worry that he would be homeless.
But he did have a home – next door as it turned out. So we drove him back home and parted ways with him.
I miss being able to love without restraint. Unfortunately I am convinced that it is not possible to love the same way you love before being hurt. Maturity makes us stronger, yes; but it also robs us of our undying devotion and belief in others. http://loveisacunt.blogspot.com/2006/08/just-once.html
Now it’s many bottles of wine later. Huxley turned out to be a Buster. He’s safe and that makes me happy. I miss my old dog, but I am a better person for knowing him while he was alive.
This post is for you Makkiby, Xx.
