One last post; Max’s long time vets at Austin Vet Hospital sent a lovely card.

The next morning I felt that our house
had been lifted away from its foundation
during the night, and was now adrift,
though so heavy it drew a foot or more
of whatever was buoying it up, not water
but something cold and thin and clear,
silence riffling its surface as the house
began to turn on a strengthening current,
leaving, taking my wife and me with it,
and though it had never occurred
to me until that moment, for fifteen years
our dog had held down what we had
by pressing his belly to the floors,
his front paws, too, and with him gone
the house had begun to float out onto
emptiness, no solid ground in sight.

So many years later, the old dog
still circles, head lowered, crippled by
arthritis, nearly blind, incontinent.
We repeat the litany, as if we need
convincing that the end is right.

I’ll get her an ice cream cone if you’ll
drive her to the vet, my wife says.
So there we sit on the front steps
with our friend, and in the car, as always,
when she senses the doctor’s office
drawing near, she moans and tries to
burrow underneath the seats.

What remains, the memory of how
she taught us all the way we need
to learn to live with wasting.
There we sit, together, one last time
as all that sweetness slowly disappears.

I’ve thought about this check in email from Kathy Jackson, the followup coordinator for Cocker Spaniel Rescue of Austin/San Antonio, many many times over the years:

“You have had an adventure with Max.. God Bless you…

I had one in the last few years that I would NEVER have adopted if I had know how traumatized he was. He died in June, and I really think I will grieve him worse than any other cocker I have ever loved. For some reasons, the rough ones imbed in our hearts in a more significant way.

I am glad you are not giving up on him; he has had so many homes.”

My friend Kai commented on the original Facebook Post:

The hard ones are always the best ones. I think we miss them more because of the extra time we spend helping them learn that life is full of love and that not all people suck. Love you my friend.

Bill Fravel commented:

I’m so sorry. Our last of six Cockers went blind from SARDS and I know how amazing a blind dog can be. I’m sure you will treasure every memory.

I found something I transcribed from the wall of the office of one of our vets where we had to send one of our Cockers to the Rainbow Bridge.

“My Dog Heart. It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them, and every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough all of the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.”

– Anonymous –

Peggy Kipping commented:

Thank you for giving Max such a meaningful, wonderful, love-filled life. He was truly a good boy

Jen Welch, Max’s foster, who followed his adventures on Facebook commented:

I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m so glad you found each other.

Well. Here we are. Max is clearly suffering from doggie dementia. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, his appetite is still good, and he’s still mobile.

We think he’s 15 or so now, which is a good long run for a cocker spaniel. It’s hard to know when the right time to help a pup over the rainbow bridge, but we’re starting to wonder.

We have him in belly bands while he’s inside. We are hyper vigilant; when his nails hit the floor, we know we probably need to get him outside. Even at 3:00 am. That’s especially difficult for the light sleeper (me).

We have to go outside and bring him in regularly now, as he doesn’t always come to the door and ask to be let back in. He will stand on the deck, seemingly unsure of where to go; not actively sniffing the world as he might in the past.

He’s never been overly demonstrative, but he would come find me in my office while I was working, and snooze contentedly. Yesterday, he paced circles for nearly an hour while I was on a call, never laying down for more than a minute.

[Update: Quality of Life check on Tuesday. In November, the vet said he likely had “months”. It is months later.

I strongly feel it isn’t fair to Max to wait until he is in pain, or doesn’t want to eat, or is immobile. But finding that balance is emotionally difficult. Heck, it’s intellectually difficult as well)]

This photo is from our RV trip to Port Aransas last week.

I opened the pantry, and he grabbed this bag right away, no hesitation. And would not let go. 

 I had to gently force him to let go.

The ol’ boi still has it. 

Max did Sleep in Saturday like such a boss that he got Breakfast in Bed

Whitney was unsure how to solve the puzzle, so Max moved in for the steal!