Max was a great dog, and a sweet-hearted, good-natured big brother to two younger dogs and three children, now grown. He was also a great friend and companion to Angie, his owner.
I knew him only as a friend of a friend, and from just the few times we met and walked together, I miss him. While Misty (a Jack Russell terrier) would charge ahead or run behind to flush out imaginary beasts of all kinds, Max would stay close by, not to protect us, but out of deep affection for Angie.
He was beautiful, with a deep, rich, multi-colored coat. His tongue laughed bright pink over his teeth as he trotted along. You could bury your face in his shoulder.
I’d like to do that now, but that is the tragedy of all pets: when you most need their comfort is when they leave you. Dogs’ lives seem so short, but they love so completely they make us better for having known them. What more could we ask of anyone?
Farewell, mein Hund.