Max Goes to the Beach
From 7,000 feet above sea level to zero!
He certainly had a rough beginning. Although nobody knows how Max spent the first few months of his life as a puppy, the fact that he was born in rural New Mexico where dogs often do not get spayed or neutered and where puppies are often left to fend for themselves suggests that he didn’t have it easy. And then one day in early June of 2013 he was hit by a car and left to die.
It happened on a fairly busy highway intersection; one part is US 84 which goes from Pagosa Springs in Colorado all the way to Georgia. With lots of trucks and a speed limit of 60 mi/hr, and only two narrow lanes, accidents are common. Hit-and-runs, when an animal is involved, are the norm.
But the poor dog was lucky: a kind soul had seen what happened and took care of him right away. She picked him up, put him in the back of her car, and drove him to the nearest animal shelter, about half an hour away.
Nowadays it’s run by the Humane Society; they have a medical clinic and several veterinarians who work there. But in 2013 it was just a shelter. The injured dog received pain medication and was admitted, but they could keep him for three days only, the woman who brought him in was told. He might have internal injuries which the shelter had no way to detect or treat. If nobody would pick him up, he’d have to be put down after three days.
His rescuer didn’t give up easily. She sat down at her computer, went to her Facebook page, related what would happen to the dog if nobody would adopt him, and urged her Facebook friends to share and look for a home for him. She also knocked at the doors of people who lived near the site of the accident to find out whether he belonged to anybody. But nobody claimed him.
When I first saw the Facebook post I checked back every few hours to find out if somebody had come forward. People donated money so that he could be taken to a vet. It turned out that he had only superficial injuries, nothing serious. And he was around seven months old, still almost a puppy! But a permanent home? Nobody volunteered. “Sorry, I already have a dog”, “I’m gone for most of the day”, “I’m allergic to dogs” – would he have to be stuck in the shelter after all?
I already had TWO dogs, and I’m relatively poor; could I really afford another dog? But I just couldn’t stand it; he survived a car accident and then should be euthanized because nobody wanted him? So I agreed to take him.
Mind you, this was sight unseen. My two girls Mieze and Stella had always been quite hostile when a friend with a dog came to visit. I had no idea what to expect and was a bit apprehensive. What if the new dog was defensive or overactive, and they would fight all the time?
There was absolutely no reason to worry. Once I met him (and his name would be Max; that was settled right away), I knew immediately that he was the kindest, sweetest dog one could wish for. He is mellow and goofy and laid-back. His favorite resting place is a person’s lap; never mind that he weighs over 80 pounds. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined a more affectionate furry companion.
So then I had three doggies, but it didn’t stay there: I also took care of Rusty, the dog of a neighbor who spent a lot of time in Japan. During Covid Rusty lived with us for over one and a half years. And starting in 2020, we had another guest in January and February: Kai, whose people always spent the winter months in Florida. FIVE dogs – quite the pack! They all got along splendidly. It was fairly easy to take care of them because they could just go outside and run around wherever they wanted. No traffic, no immediate neighbors, no fences but meadows, hills, mesas, and woods. Rabbits and squirrels to chase, although they never caught any. We’d hear, but rarely see, coyotes. A few times a herd of elk would run by. Not a bad life for a dog.
Mieze died in 2020; she was 14 years old. Stella died a year later; she was only eleven years old but got sick and wouldn’t eat. I took her to an animal hospital in Albuquerque where she had surgery; I still think they killed her. She was misdiagnosed; after an ultrasound the surgeon told me she had a twisted stomach and needed an operation immediately. Once the surgery was done he corrected himself and stated that it was more likely pancreatitis – something that doesn’t necessarily require surgery, as I found out. A day later, she was dead.
Earlier in 2021 I had added Juna to our little gang. Max welcomed her, but he was already almost nine years old and didn’t take much interest in younger dogs. When one-year-old Xuxu joined us in 2022, Juna found the perfect playmate – Max was content to watch them.
And then we were forced to move; the house where we lived had been bought by a developer, taken off the rental market for something akin to a vacation rental. That’s how Max and I ended up on sea level. I wonder how many doggies drove all the way from New Mexico to Massachusetts this year; I bet not that many.
On Sunday Max could sniff the ocean and walk along the beach on soft sand. There was another dog who loved to swim, although it was pretty cold! His guardian would throw a ball, and the dog would happily plunge into the waters to retrieve the ball. And repeat. And repeat. Not so Max; he easily shivers and had no desire to get wet and cold. But I could tell that he had a great time!
thanks Jessica, I'm smiling all the way back here at 7,200' in Colorado.