Max and I have been together for 12 years this month. We met when he was about 9 weeks old and arrived in a crate from Australia at Hong Kong’s Chep Lap Kok cargo terminal one morning. He was cowering in the back of the crate, which he had soiled in the 9 ½ hour flight from Down Under. The Hong Kong authorities insisted on vaccinating him even though he had a thorough shot record from his Australian kennel.
I took him home and bathed him. He was the cutest little fluffball and liked to chase butterflies in the garden during his puppyhood. In his adulthood, he loves bunnies. When we walk, he is always on the lookout for the neighborhood rabbits. Sometimes he climbs up on the sofa with his forepaws on the backrest to look out the window to try to site them. He has always been curious about other animals. In a Hong Kong dog park in his middle age, he wanted to explore someone’s pet snapping turtle and almost lost his nose.
Max was always up for a walk to Hong Kong’s Peak and did it most Sundays. Once, he insisted we let him off-leash so he could explore. We stupidly obliged. He disappeared. We waited at the end of Lugard Road by the Peak Tram for him, and he eventually emerged from the trail on someone else’s lead. Horrible thing to try to kidnap someone’s pet! I got him back from the party who claimed to be “rescuing” him, and committed to more care in the future.
My father was not. He had the habit of walking down our then-long driveway to get the morning paper from the mailbox with the dogs free of leashes. Max, bounding happily out of the brush, was hit by a car and had to spend about 6 weeks in a crate recovering following hip surgery. I am happy to see he learned to jump and frolic again.
Max is compassionate. He was my companion when my husband passed. He helped nurse my husband’s dog, Charlie, who declined rapidly after Peter’s death. Max comforted me after I had to put Charlie down when he was too feeble to move. He comforted me when I had romances go sideways. I also took comfort from Max when I had my hip surgeries: if he could learn to run and jump again, well, so could I.
Max the labradoodle has maintained our friendship even when I tell him I’m busy and don’t have time to play. Even if I am gone for more than five hours, and I forget to leave his food out. Even when I am grumpy and sharp with him, or take him to the vet where they are going to give him a shot and prod him. He forgives me when I go on a long trip, and I don’t bring him a toy. His loyalty reminds me of that old joke about locking your husband and dog in the trunk for an hour, and which one will be happy to see you when you open it.
When he sees me packing a case, he mopes. When I come home from errands or a trip, he greets me excitedly and brings me one of his toys to inspect. His current favorite is a stuffed mallard duck from my daughter, but he also likes his iguana from Tucson and Harrods’ bear from London.
He likes to tell me what time it is. When I am working at my desk, he will get up from his nap and shake himself, then walk over to me to get my attention. It could mean: Katherine, it’s our lunchtime or dinner time. Or it might be, Katherine, walk time. Or maybe even, Katherine, I need a hug. That can happen at almost any time. True. Max can be a bit of a beggar. When he smells steak or pizza, he is in my face until he gets some of it or it gets put away.
Max turned 12 this month, and I turn 70. I expect he is my last live-in, whether four-legged or two-legged, but I hope we will treasure these last few years together as I have the previous dozen.