Christian Living

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It's been over three years now since I said goodbye to my friend Max. But the memories of my beloved dog are still wrapped around my heart. And on occasion those memories can bring tears of joy or sadness to my eyes.

Max had a simple heart, uncluttered by hidden agendas. When I came home from work, he would be the first to greet me. He would jump up and put his front paws on my chest while I rubbed his back. "How's my boy?" I would say. Max would lean back with his head and look at the other dogs as if to say, "Look at me boys—I'm daddy's favorite."

Then I would sing a song in a baby voice to the tune of "Jesus Loves Me" as if Max was singing it. "Daddy wuvs me dis I know . . . for da daddy tells me so." And there was no doubt that Max was my favorite. From the moment I stuffed little Max inside my parka to bring him home, he became my baby.

And Max never did seem to grow up. He was childlike by nature and remained so through his entire life Admittedly, I don't think my son and I ever wanted him to grow up. We talked baby talk with him all the time. My boy had pet names for him like "Da-doose Me-goose."

Sometimes we would catch Max on the floor "cleaning his face." He would be lying on his side with his head between his front paws. Then Max would begin rubbing his paws in circular motion over his floppy ears, eyes, and snout as if washing up. At the same time, his mouth would drop open and he'd make funny sounds like he was lost in some dream world. His antics were hilarious to watch, and Max never did lose his cute baby face.

When it came to playing, Max poured every ounce of energy into it. He loved retrieving a ball but especially grabbing a Frisbee out of midair. And some of his catches were incredibly acrobatic and skillful. Rarely did he ever miss snagging the flying disc.

I remember one such outing at a family camp in Minnesota. Max had just finished swimming all afternoon at the lake and now wanted to play Frisbee with me. A little ways down from our motel was a large open field. I took an ice cream pail of water with me to help quench Max's thirst when he got heated up from running. Every couple of runs, Max would stop to gulp down some water, then bark excitedly for me to throw the disc again. His body literally shook with energy. Well, poor Max ran himself to the point of exhaustion. I had to stop throwing the disc when I realized my friend's exuberance overshadowed his common sense.

And Max was no different in his enthusiasm when it came to swimming. If I was out in the water, Max wanted to be right beside me all the time. I loved snorkeling and would swim with him for hours—sometimes playing the game of "cat and mouse." I would suddenly submerge below the surface of the water and watch Max swim in circles above trying to locate me. When I finally surfaced, he would bark his disapproval for hiding on him. It was great fun. Then we would swim together with my hand placed gently on his back.

Ever sensitive to his needs, I would let him rest on me when he simply ran out of energy. And like a father who knows his little boy, I would deliberately swim towards shore just so Max could go and relieve himself. Then he would come bouncing back into the water, all happy again to join me.

And what a faithful companion Max was to my son! When my boy was small, he was afraid to be upstairs alone when he would wake up. In the morning, you could hear his little voice calling out, "Mom? Send Max up." Then Max would faithfully go upstairs to be with my son. Afterwards, my boy would reward him with a cookie.

Another scene comes to mind here. I was at work when this happened and only heard about it later. My wife was walking with my young son and Max down the street one day when a man approached them in an aggressive manner. The hackles suddenly went up on the back of Max's neck as he bared his teeth and let out a ferocious bark. The man stopped dead in his tracks. It was a clear demonstration to me of Max's ability to sense danger and to protect his family.

Like most animals, Max was not without his share of injuries. The first is the case of the broken tail. Max did not have a normal "otter" tail like most Labrador Retrievers. Instead of a thick short tail that angled downwards, Max's tail was longer and arched right over his back when he was excited. His tail was ALWAYS wagging nonstop. On the morning we were to leave for summer camp, we noticed Max's tail was drooping down, completely limp. Even Max noticed it and it bothered him. As best as we could figure out, Max must have broken his tail when he whacked it against a corner of the stove or refrigerator.

With heavy hearts we left for the Christian camp. But sometime during the first couple of days, I felt the inspiration to bring the needs of our dog to the Lord, to the One who had created him in the first place. It may have sounded silly to make such a request, but I wanted my son to know that God hears and answers prayer—that we can take all of our needs to Him. We gathered around Max and prayed for God to heal his tail. The next morning, to our incredible surprise, Max greeted me with a wagging tail. It was completely back to normal. THANK YOU LORD!

The next story is the case of the broken leg. Almost every evening, I would take Max into the park to let him run off leash. The small park was surrounded by a mesh fence, so I felt it was secure. But on a certain evening, a stray dog came up to the park entrance and got Max's attention. Max tore after him, leaving the park and crossing a street right in front of an oncoming vehicle. The car slammed on the brakes but wound up pinning Max's right leg under the wheel. Max screamed in pain while I ran over frantically towards the driver.

The man was all apologetic as I approached him, not realizing his car was still pinning my dog. "I'm sorry!" he said. "The dog just ran out in front of me."

"Get off my dog!" I shouted. "Your wheel is sitting on my dog!"

The poor man instantly reversed the car releasing Max. I picked my dog up and rushed home. In the backyard, I set Max down and realized his leg injury was severe. I knew we couldn't afford a vet, but that's what he needed. At that exact moment, my Jewish neighbor, Larry, a dog lover himself, saw Max limping and asked what happened. I relayed the incident to him, and then he asked me what I was going to do. I didn't know. He immediately came into my yard and pulled out his credit card and told me to take Max to the vet—that he would cover everything.

To this day, I don’t know how much the vet bill was. I do know that Max's leg was fractured in two places, that he needed stitching and a splint. And my neighbor Larry covered all the expenses. Truly, it is a debt that I could never repay. For who can put a price on an act of kindness shown to one in desperate need?

We rushed Max to the emergency animal clinic where they told me he would have to be sedated and kept in overnight. I left my dog with a heavy heart knowing that it was all my fault that Max was injured in the first place. Early the next morning, I got a phone call from the vet begging me to pick up my dog right away. I could hear Max in the background barking like there was no tomorrow. Apparently when Max came out of sedation, he began barking nonstop.

I whipped over to the clinic to save my friend from the strange environment that he found himself in—the smell of iodine and disinfectants assaulting his nostrils. Max's barking stopped as soon as he saw me and the medical staff heaved a sigh of relief. It took several months before Max could make full use of that leg again. We did put a leather booty on Max's injured foot during the winter months which helped to protect it from the cold. Eventually, Max's stamina paid off and he was able to run again and play Frisbee.

Now I come to the saddest part of my story. Max was almost 12-years old when I noticed him hacking after he barked or ate as if something was caught in his throat. Though Max never once complained, I could see something was wrong. I prayed that God would heal him just as He did years earlier. Weeks passed and Max's condition only grew worse. He couldn't keep his food down, so he began to lose weight.

Although it was clear that Max was dying, I chose to ignore the obvious. I couldn't face it. I went and bought all kinds of special meats that I knew Max loved hoping to nurse him back to health. He would eat the treats but vomit them up again. Then one evening around midnight, Max asked to go outside. I carried him down the backstairs into the yard, for he was now too weak to climb on his own. Instead of lying in the grass like normal, Max shuffled over to the flower garden and lied down. He looked at me, and it was like he was saying, "Daddy, this is where I want to die."

It was with a heavy heart that I left Max and returned to the couch in the living room. There I quietly sobbed before the Lord. "Please God, don't take Max from me. I don't want to lose him!" Suddenly, I heard Max's voice barking for me at the backdoor. He had managed to climb the stairs on his own. I was overjoyed thinking perhaps God had healed him. But I believe now that God spared me the grief that night, for I was not ready to say goodbye.

I realized Max wasn't any better the next day, so I prayed that God would heal him, or graciously end his life. I did not want the responsibility of deciding the fate of my friend. But it was at work on Monday that my fellow workers made me feel ashamed for allowing my dog to suffer. I came home and walked into the house and asked my wife if by chance Max was better—there was no change.

I got my wife to phone the animal clinic while I tenderly picked up Max and carried him to the back of the truck. And there I gave my friend his last drink of water. My son accompanied me to the clinic where I carried my beloved dog in and laid him gently on a table. Max trusted me implicitly that I would take care of him. And now, I felt like I was betraying my only friend. I stayed with Max stroking his head while the vet prepared the syringe. All the while, I was hoping Max would suddenly get up and then we could go home, or that the vet would suddenly discover that she could save Max.

Max felt the prick of the needle in his leg, lifted his head to look at the vet, then laid his head back down and lay still. I just stood there unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. "Is he gone?" I asked the vet. "Yes," came the reply.

My lips quivered and my eyes filled with tears as I began to break down. The vet put her comforting hand on my chest and said, "You did the right thing." She left my son and me alone while we wept over Max, stroking his face and kissing him. "I'm so sorry Max!" I sobbed. "I failed you . . . I'm sorry for letting you down . . . I'm so sorry for being such a terrible master!"

As we drove home, my heart was heavy with sorrow and anger. I was angry at God. Why didn't God end Max's life? Why did I have to do it? Now I felt guilty as if I had betrayed my friend. When I reached home, I went directly upstairs and there poured my heart out to God in bitter tears. "Why God? Why did You not end Max's life when I asked You to? Why did You make me do it?"

I did not receive an answer to those questions until the following morning. While I was in prayer God spoke to my heart with this question, "Paul, if you were out in the woods and found an injured wild animal that was suffering and at the point of death, what would you do?"

My answer was immediate. "I would put the animal out of its misery." Then suddenly, my eyes were opened. If it was humane to end the suffering of a wild animal whom you do not know, how much more humane to end the suffering of your beloved pet whom you love. I realized that putting Max down was an act of compassion to end his suffering. It was the RIGHT thing to do. And I also realized that Max was my responsibility, not God's. From the moment I brought Max home as a baby, he was placed under my care. God was teaching me to take responsibility for those animals entrusted to me.

It is true, I no longer have to wipe up the puddles of drool that fell from Max's mouth when I would make his favorite peanut butter pancakes. And the black hairs we used to find everywhere (including our cereal bowl) have all but disappeared. My son says there is still dried up slob from Max on his bedroom wall, which landed there when Max shook his head.

Yes, Max was boisterous to the point of being obnoxious, but you knew it came from an honest heart. And yes, he smelled like dirty socks or Blue Cheese (take your pick), but I loved him anyways. God brought Max into my life. What more can I say? To my beloved and dearest friend Max—I miss you.

"A FRIEND LOVES AT ALL TIMES" (Proverbs 17:17a).


Blessings in Christ Jesus,
Paul Janz

(Scripture quotation is taken from the Holy Bible, New King James Version.)

"MAX, My Beloved Friend (Part 3) Memories" 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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