It has not escaped my attention that Max may be more well-known in this community than his parents.
- “Hi there, my name is so-and-so. Oh, you must be Max’s dad!”
- What did you say your name was? Derek Maul? No, I can’t say that I have… Wait a minute – are you that guy who walks Max?”
- “Yes, I think I heard something about your wife and the Presbyterian Church. Don’t you have that big dog? Oh, we’ve all heard of Max!”
When we take a walk late in the evening, some car will slow to a crawl and a window roll down. “What’s that you have there? OMG what the heck is that thing?”
“Hey y’all,” I’ll say. “Max here is half Longhaired Tibetan Warrior Mastiff* and half Dire Wolf. But don’t worry, he only hunts at night.”
Some people will cross to our side of the street just so they can say “hello” to Max. People who don’t know him might scurry across the street because they are afraid. But nobody is indifferent – it’s literally impossible to pretend he’s not there.
And of course Max’s whole raison d’être is to have people know that he is there. His excuse is he was trained as a service dog so herding people is his job. But if Max was honest he would admit he just likes leaning into people, generating belly-rubs and ear-tickles and chin-scratchies… and if possible treats.
Max may be quiet – in that he does not bark or jump all over people. But he has the loudest presence imaginable. Some tiny dogs (and I have seen them – along with their bared teeth – carried or stashed in purses and coat pockets) are more accessory than pet. With Max the accessory is me.
“Look! There goes Max! And That Guy; you know, what’s-his-name – Max’s dad…”
Grateful, always – MAX’S DAD
(* In case you’re wondering, there is no such thing as a Longhaired Tibetan Warrior Mastiff!)
