Max

I had to say goodbye to my best friend this morning.

In early February 2015, while living in the Hudson Valley town of Newburgh, New York, I looked out my window one evening when I saw swirling lights reflected inward from the street. A steady snow was falling as I looked down and saw someone being loaded into an ambulance (not an uncommon occurrence in Newburgh) and, a few feet away, a medium-sized dog energetically racing back and forth and pausing to gnaw at some garbage bags that had been left outside, as if he may have just been let out briefly from one of the nearby houses to relief himself before being called back by his owner. 

I thought nothing more of it but, about a half an hour later, I happened to look out the window again and saw the dog was still there, now dusted with a light coating of snow on his fur as he worked his way through the contents of one of the garbage bags. I realized all was not as it should be, threw on my winter coat and went outside. I approached him gently and he appeared cautious but friendly. He let me pet him and, without too much trouble, I took off my belt and looped it through his collar to lead him back inside to my place. 

I had arrived in Newburgh with three cats - Hastings from New Orleans, Winston from Sarasota and Valentine Lawless from Miami Beach - and had no intention of adding a dog to the menagerie. Worried about how he might react to the cats (and they to him), when I left the house, I at first put him in a large cage made for turtles that my landlady generously offered me. I posted on all local Facebook groups to see if anyone had lost a pet or had recognized him. No one had and no one did. I took him to the vet and they checked hi for a chip. It turned out that he had one, from Baltimore, and that his name was Max. When I called his name - “Max!” - I’ll never forget the look of excitement in his eyes when he turned around and wagged his tail. We called the number on the chip and were told by the person who answered that he had been given away some years ago and they didn’t want him back. Over the next several days, as we walked the frigid streets of Newburgh and I tried to decide what to do with this dog who unexpectedly came into my life, I saw what a friendly, excited animal he was. He frequently nuzzled my hand and licked my face. He got along well with the cats. One night, out for our evening constitutional and passing the inevitable procession of drug dealers, drug addicts, streetwalkers and other gens de la rue, we were shaken out of our reverie by the blaring sirens of a series of police cars and fire engines speeding down Newburgh’s Broadway. At this, Max turned towards them, his eyes widened and he began emitting a howl that sound like it was coming from the Hound of the Baskervilles rather than a 20 pound dog.

Very quickly, he melted my heart and I ended up keeping him, and a few weeks later we made the long drive from Newburgh back to Miami, where he greeted the street cats in Coconut Grove with friendly curiosity, strolled side by side with peacocks, searched for enticing smells under the palm trees in Barnacle State Park, watched the boats bob in the marina under a blanket of tropical stars and gazed out onto the rolling blue expanse of Biscayne Bay. You could tell how interested he was in this new world.

After a few years (during which, my oldest cat, Winston, passed away at 20, a loss that anguished me for months and in some ways still does), we had an unexpected detour by to my native city, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where I hadn’t lived since I was 18 and which the thought of returning to filled me with dread. But it turned out not to be so bad, after all, as the place had changed much for the better over the years and, with Max at my side, we would stroll through its once-derelict colonial lanes as summer turned to autumn - as the fall chill grew, I would wake up to find him snuggled ever closer to me in the bed - and then winter, passing the grave of the great abolitionist Thaddeus Stevens, who believed in the “equality of man before his Creator.” Max loved the falling leaves and most of all the snow, drifts of which he jumped into with abandon and flicked up heavenward with his long nose. He was welcome everywhere, and especially liked a miniature serving of duck-fat fries at a wine bar we used to frequent.

In 2019, we moved to Puerto Rico, during an immensely turbulent time on the island, and in the mornings I would walk him along the walls of the old city as we watched the Caribbean tumble below us before the day got too hot. At night, we would take leisurely strolls, often pausing for a Medalla (or two) at a bar down the street from my house which I seem to recall was called Nelly’s and where the owner’s elderly mother loved Max and always greeted him and petted him when we stopped for a visit. When the pandemic shut everything down, we would walk the nearly-deserted streets together, and Max would gaze quizzically at the tropical birds and enjoy the sunsets. 

In mid 2021, we flew back from San Juan to Miami (he was the best, most easygoing flyer) and drove, along with my cats, from there to a little river town in Pennsylvania where Max and I would walk daily along a forest path that skirted the rolling Susquehanna River, the sound of birdsong echoing overhead, before detouring to a Ukrainian-owned pizza joint (one of the very few dining options in a very small town) where people would fuss over him and feed him ham. Able to experience autumn again, we would sit side by side on a carpet of fallen leaves on the river bank for extended periods as we wordlessly watched the water roll by. 

When we moved to Baltimore, Max immediately claimed a rigorous walking path for his own through our new neighborhood of Mount Vernon, around Mount Vernon Place and all the way over to Howard Street, and quickly became beloved by the local restaurants where he was given portions of bacon (at the bagel shop), dog treats (at the coffee shop) and pork (at the Mexican restaurant) everytime he appeared. He was a creature who really brought joy to the lives of all of those whose paths he crossed. Throughout the cold winters in our lovely but drafty apartment, he would snuggle up next to me at night as I read, his nose burrowed under the back of my neck or under my shoulder. Often, I would fall asleep reading and wake up to him snoring contentedly next to me.

When you live the roving lifestyle I have - where cities, countries, romantic parters, languages and others aspects change every couple of years - you can feel unmoored by the normal signposts that more sedentary people have in their lives. That’s where animals come in. They remain, amid the swirling forces of luck and fate, something that anchors and centers you and your place in this life.

Though I have for years loved the reserved and discerning wisdom of cats, I have never encountered another living creature that brought so much uncomplicated joy to my life as Max did. Every day was a celebration and an adventure to him as long as we could wake up side by side, eat together, go on adventurous walks and lay down together again that night. That was all he needed.

No matter how bleak things looked - and they have looked pretty bleak at various time over the last decade - to Max the world was a carnival. No matter what, no matter how little money I had, no matter what personal or professional frustrations I was experiencing, no matter whether or not I was facing a frightening illness, Max was always there, always happy to be there, always a companion whose loyalty and warmth never wavered. “Good morning, Dad!” his smile always seemed to say. “Today is going to be great!” Even as his health rapidly and unexpectedly deteriorated in recent weeks, his eyes when I looked into them were never full of anything but love.

He taught me that life can be simple, and so can its pleasures. 

I am so used to cooking dinner for two and I don’t know how I will make only a single plate now. Max loved hamburgers, picadillo, pollo guisado, pork chops and Irish stew. It will take some getting used to to turn back from the stove and not see his excited, curious face with a smile - always a smile - right behind me.

I love you, little buddy. Until we meet again, Max. Thank you for everything.