Humor
Where does one start when describing a friend, especially when that friend comes with hairy legs, gulps down food without chewing, drools, smells like dirty socks, and goes "Woof, Woof"? (Ladies, I'm not talking about your husbands here.) I see that you've guessed it already. Max was a dog—a Labrador Retriever to be exact. But best of all, he was MY dog. And Max was also my best friend, a faithful companion like no other. This is his story, and the things that he taught me without so much as saying a word.
It seems to me the need for a second dog came when my son was about four years old. We already had a collie dog named Luke, whose nature for shepherding and protecting little lambs didn't quite turn out as expected. Although Luke was very loving towards our son and licked his face lots, he would bare his teeth when my son pulled on his hair while playing with him. And on more than one occasion, complete strangers were welcomed by Luke into the yard while he was supposedly guarding our son. It was then that I realized this canine did not quite have the nature of "Lassie" as depicted in the movies.
My research through the dog encyclopedias convinced me that a Labrador Retriever was the best dog for a family with children. According to the books, their very nature makes them compatible with children who like to pull hair. These dogs also love to swim, and true tales of their heroics rescuing drowning people persuaded me that this was the best dog for my son.
I phoned around to dog breeders and was surprised at the prices that they wanted for their Lab pup. I just wanted a dog—I didn't care if the pup's pedigree could be traced back to King Henry VIII. Then I happened upon an ad where the owner was charging a lot less. Over the phone, the man told me that there were only two pups left. "They're purebred Labs," he said, "but there's no papers." That was fine with me—the price was right.
I headed over right away to this guy's place in the south end of town. When I drove into the yard, I was greeted by a friendly yellow Lab. I wondered if this was the mom. Sure enough, the owner identified this stocky female dog as the mother of the two pups that were in the kennel.
Admittedly, I voiced surprise to the owner that the pups were outside in the cold and were not kept in the man's house. The guy looked at me like I was weird. "Why would you do that?" he asked. "These are hunting dogs. They never come inside the house. Besides, they would 'blow their coat' if they stayed indoors and became acclimatized to a warm environment."
Well, one thing was certainly true, these two pups had not "blown their coats." I had never seen puppies with so much hair. They looked like baby polar bears, with the only difference being that these "cubs" were black. I don't remember what drew me to Max. Perhaps he was the first one to come to me. Or maybe he was the first that I picked up and held. I do remember him lying docile in my arms, shaking like a leaf. I thought he was cold, yet more than likely he was afraid of leaving his mommy, just as his brothers and sisters had.
At any rate, I knew I wanted Max. I tried to "negotiate the price" (a diplomatic term for trying to "get a steal"), but the owner wouldn't budge. I told him I would have to think about it, then left. Well, I didn't have to think about it for long. The dog looked like a Lab and was 4x cheaper than the other pups my son and I had looked at. I went straight to the bank and withdrew the extra cash, then returned.
I picked out Max and the owner tied a purple ribbon on him to set him apart from his brother. Then the owner and I went inside the house to close the deal. It was here that I found out more about Max's mother and father. The mother was a true hunting dog. She swam the lakes and rivers to retrieve the ducks and geese for her master. Game trophies lined this man's walls from all his adventures.
The father of Max was a chocolate Lab and somewhat high strung from what I understood. The owner was hoping to crossbreed his yellow Lab with a chocolate Lab and get chocolate puppies (they were worth more money). Well—it backfired, and the pups turned out black instead. That's what you get for messing around with paint.
It was time to leave with Max and the owner warned me, "Make sure you keep the dog outside or he will blow his coat. Don't baby him." I thought about his warning. While his advice was true about a dog losing its coat, the man seemed to have no relationship with his dogs at all. They were just working dogs to him—like an ox—they served a purpose, but they were not worth cuddling up to.
But dogs did not become "Man's best friend" by being tied up outside on a chain. God designed those animals with personality and feelings. They seem to have the uncanny ability to read man's emotions and to interact with us. On the way home, I decided to ignore this man's advice and stuck that trembling furry ball called Max inside my parka—right against my heart. And before we reached home, his shaking stopped.
There's nothing cuter than a Lab pup. My son and I came into the back porch of our house and set Max down on the floor. Then we opened the door to the kitchen. My wife saw Max first and grinned with delight. The puppy walked in and noticed Luke, our dog, lying down at the other end of the house in the main hallway.
Immediately, little Max scampered as fast as his legs could take him and ran smack right into the sleeping collie. It looked hilarious. Max thought Luke was his mommy and that it was feeding time. Luke woke up with a start and wondered what little fur ball just hit him. But true to his collie nature, Luke's shepherding instinct took over. He began licking the little puppy with affection. They bonded immediately and became inseparable. So much so, that whenever Max got scolded, he would go to Luke for comfort. And the collie would lick his face to make him feel better.
It wasn't long before Max became my son's favorite play buddy. They would romp together inside the house and out in the yard. There seemed to be no end to the fun things my son could imagine to do with his chum. He would hide treats or toys in the sand and Max would find them with his nose and dig them out. Other times my boy would play dress up with Max and put all types of outfits on him while they went on an imaginary adventure. And true to the book, no matter how rough or strange the adventure was, Max was totally compliant.
I need to tell you about three incidents that made Max unique in the worst way. I think he was only about a year old when this happened. My son and I used to walk him around a park close to our house every evening. Max was forever picking up garbage food left on the boulevard. If you didn't get to him fast enough, he swallowed everything—wrapper and all. And you literally had to pry his mouth open to get the stuff out if he was bent on eating it. So he learned to swallow fast. Dead birds, chicken bones, half-eaten hamburgers, and the like, were his constant delight. He was a walking garburator.
But one evening, Max's keen nose found something in the dark. And before I could say, "Drop it," Max had swallowed it. I wasn't sure exactly what it was, but I had this feeling it may have been a glove. We quickly finished our walk and I told my wife what I suspected. She phoned the vet who told her that if the item was too large, it might block his bowels. The vet recommended putting salt water down his throat which would force him to vomit and expel the item. That's exactly what we did using a turkey baster. Max immediately upchucked one ladies' yucky, fleece-lined, black leather glove.
As Max grew into adulthood, so did his brawn. He was solidly built from top to bottom. And when it came to getting from point "A" to point "B," Max believed the DIRECT route was the best way—after all, why swim around a dock to get to your master when going THROUGH it was closer? You see, Max wasn't too interested in logic. If the shortest route to me was the thickest part of the bush, he wouldn't bother taking an open trail. It is in the light of this knowledge that I set the scene for another "unique" event.
I often let Max run free when we would go for walks around the park. And for the most part, he would listen to me. One evening, Max got a little too far ahead of me, so I called him back. Like a good, obedient dog, he came charging towards me. At the same time, this older man of small stature was walking my direction at a fast pace. I think he was on his way to say his prayers at the local synagogue by the park. At any rate, Max came running from behind this fellow taking the most direct route to me—right through this man's legs.
Suddenly, the poor man found himself floating in midair as his legs flipped out from underneath him and he landed flat on his back. The poor guy didn't know what hit him. And seeing that he was on his way to prayer, he may have thought at first God was trying to get his attention—that is—until he saw my dog. I rushed over to the man to ask if he was all right. He was more embarrassed than hurt. And thankfully, all he did was upbraid me for not having my dog on a leash—whew!
Now for "Scene 3." I had just purchased an old Tri-hull boat and offered to take some kids for a ride on the river. Of course, my faithful friend, Max, had to come along. We launched the boat at the regular spot and drove around for about an hour. Eventually, we came upon the local beach where a crowd had gathered. I had the bright idea to stop there at the dock to get the kids an ice cream and to stretch our legs. But if the truth be told, I also thought it would be a great place to show off my "new" boat—to make an impression on the crowd. Well, we soon pulled alongside the dock and Max jumped out first and quickly disappeared. I assumed he wanted to go for a swim. One thing I had to learn about Max—never make assumptions.
I proudly secured my boat before the onlookers, then helped everybody out. I walked about halfway down the wharf when this irate lady approached me.
"Is that your dog?" she said in a terse voice as she pointed to Max who was about to go swimming. I don't think I even gave her a proper answer before she blurted out. "Well YOUR DOG just urinated on an old woman who was sitting on this dock minding her OWN BUSINESS! And some people are trying to wash her off right now in the water over there!"
I looked over to where this lady was pointing, and sure enough, some people were splashing water on the back of an elderly woman who was in a red bathing suit. At that moment, I wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear—to deny that I even knew the dog. But I couldn't do either. I suddenly had visions of a lynch mob coming to hang me on the nearest tree. Under the circumstances, I decided that ice cream could wait for another time and quickly ordered everybody back into the boat—including Max. It was the fastest boat launch that I ever did. Safely away from the shore, I tried to put two and two together. What happened back there?
Poor Max had to relieve himself after being in the boat for so long. That's why he was so eager to jump out. This poor lady dressed in red resembled a fire hydrant to my dog. And on our walks, Max made sure to water every fire hydrant. Never mind that this "fire hydrant" was breathing and sitting on the edge of a dock surrounded by water. That didn't matter to Max—he had to go. UGH!
As I have already mentioned, I wanted to leave an impression on the crowd when I first arrived—I did. And in an instant, my pride was brought low. "For he who exalts himself shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted" (Luke 14:11). God had used my dog to humble me. And God would use Max again to humble me. The saga continues.
Blessings in Christ Jesus,
Paul Janz
(All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New King James Version.)
"MAX, My Beloved Friend" Copyright © 2010 by Paul Janz.
Paul Janz is a mature aspiring author whose writings are based on personal experiences and issues that the Lord has laid on his heart. His wit, humor, maturity, and ability to tell a good story make him an ideal writer for any Christian magazine.
Contact him directly through his website: Heaven Inspired Movies
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