Max was a reject.
My dad’s brother-in-law gave Max to me when he was nine months old. He had to be flown in from Bacolod. People at home gave their fair share of comments like his head was too small, he stank, he’s too big for the house, and he’s too high maintenance. I told them, "Come on, give the dog a break because he just got here."
Max was a "puffin muffin."
Just look at his face and you will know what it means. My dog had hazel eyes, tan marks and black fur. Neighbors found him gorgeous. Guests were scared of Max’s 80-pound frame. He was not a typically fierce Rottweiler since his personality was that of a Labrador – really friendly and well-behaved. If Max wanted to go out, he would wake up my dad, when he’s in town, or me with his snout. Oh, that cute thing.
Max bunny-hopped.
I bought Max a few toys. I got a free stuffed toy from Purina dog food and a squeaky bone. He was so gigil over them. But he absolutely loved tennis balls. Every time I threw a ball, he would bunny-hop up and down the stairs. He would also do this to wake me up, or whenever he’s happy. I told my dad he would not win in a dog show because he bunny-hops.
Max had psychological and emotional problems.
My sister told me that my dog didn’t have a personality and that he was confused with his owners. My dad would let him be. My brother would make him chase cats. I would tell him not to. My younger sister would scold him for dropping his food. I was planning to send Max to doggie rehab to make him happy. But then I realized we all made him happy in some way or another.
Max was an intelligent life form on earth.
Max was semi-trained. He knew how to obey commands like "Sit," "Stay," and "Down." He played catch-the-tennis-ball with my dad. My brother taught him to shake hands. He killed a few cats but it is just doggy nature. He even went to my bathroom and got an empty facial wash container and ran down with it. Oh, what a smart dog!
Max was Mac-Mac.
My year one-and-a-half-year-old cousin Cristina adored Max. She would call him "Ma," "Tax," "Dax," and recently, "Mac-Mac." Cristina was really naughty because she would step on Max’s foot and he would just lick her. She is addicted to Baby Einstein learning videos, and when she sees a dog, she would call it Mac-Mac.
Max was a hippie dog.
Max loved to go outside for walks. He was a star because he was good-natured and handsome. And he would never chase other dogs or bark at them. The puny dogs wanted to attack him. But Max just strutted along. There is another Rottweiler named Maximus with hip disease on the next street. His owner said he was going to die soon. The funny thing was that when Max and I would pass him, the other Max would hide behind the car. A week before my Max died, he killed two rats in the kitchen and he flipped a cat 360 degrees in mid-air but didn’t kill it. Max fell on black days.
Max had his share of ticks, fleas and illnesses. He had urinary tract infection and was given antibiotics. He was hospitalized twice for stomach problems. My poor dog was sickly and rotting inside. One Saturday morning, he didn’t want to eat and was lying down the whole time. I forced him to go out and he was vomiting yellow stuff. He gave his last bark at the neighbor’s dog. My brother rushed him to the hospital and the vets gave him dextrose and tests.
I visited Max on Monday and it just broke my heart to see him resting with the dextrose on his arm. I was crying my ass off because the vet wasn’t too optimistic about his condition. Although he was happy to see me, he was very weak and I made him drink water from my hands. The miraculous thing was that he stood up before I left and I thought he was going to be okay. I called my dad and he suggested giving boiled corn-hair with water to help his kidneys. My dad was praying hard for him, too.
The next day, I visited my Mr. Puffin Muffin again. Max still hadn’t eaten but drank water from my hands. I wasn’t crying anymore because he looked slightly better. I told him to give me his hands, which he did. That was his last goodbye to me before faithfully departing to doggie heaven.
The vet called me Wednesday morning giving me the bad news: My Max was dead. I called my dad right away. He felt sad because he doesn’t have someone to give half of his breakfast to. Not having a dog makes the house feel empty. My brother now doesn’t have anyone to walk. My youngest sister, Tashi, doesn’t have anyone to give her excess food. Max’s yaya, Beverly, doesn’t have anyone to give baths to. It is really depressing to lose someone you’ve given love to. But Max served his purpose: He brought the family together.
They say the souls of animals die with them. They do not have an afterworld to go to. But at least, our pets can inhabit the heaven of our memories.
I will remember Max bunny-hopping forever.