I was numb when I got Maxim. Numb yet somehow also furious.
Of course I was ambivalent. On the one hand, I'd been saying I wanted a dog for some time. Also there was that secret hero feeling you get from liberating an incarcerated creature. On the other hand, it would be a lot of work. And disrupt my peaceful life with the Mints. To the extent I felt anything strongly, I didn't want my life to be defined by Matt's death and the scorched earth we occupied in the wake of it. Max seemed like part antidote.
Truthfully, if the shelter hadn't surrendered Max -- then Rocky -- so quickly, I'd have easily been discouraged. We hadn't connected. I'd met him for five minutes and not once did he look my way. But they did and so several days, an operation and a chip later, he was mine.
There's a lot I could say -- and might -- about how Max affects me. The gratitude I feel for the trudging 1500 miles he put between me and a broken heart that first year. How it really is hilarious listening to him sleep. His mysteriousness. How everyday I am grateful to my dog lady friends for picking him for me.
What I think I'd like to write about here is the unexpected result of our walks together, the people we've met, the things I'd have never felt or seen without him.
More on that next time. Right now, just . . . thanks Max.
