Ever have one of those Lassie moments?

You know the one, where Lassie senses the danger that everyone else just doesn't seem to pick up on?

Man, oh man, did Maxwell have one of those moments this evening.

When I got home from work, my wife tells me that Max has been going nuts trying to get into the kids bathroom.

Now don't be fooled, he loves to be in there because the kids trash has all kinds of delicacies; from snotty tissues to dirty Q-tips--and he is a Q-tip fiend! But as long as the door is shut, he pretty much ignores the bathroom altogether.

Not this evening.

Apparently he'd been scratching at the door, whining, fussing, the whole 9 yards--so much so that my wife ended up putting him outside.

I head into the bathroom and give a cursory glance around, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. I close the door and head out back to see Maxwell.

We do our normal happy-to-see-you-I-missed-you-and-I-thought-you-were-never-coming-home greeting and then head inside. Sure enough, he beelines straight for the bathroom door. So now I'm intrigued.

"What is his deal?" I think to myself.

Being the exceptionally bright man that I am, I went ahead and opened the door for him. He bolts in and immediately starts fussing at something between the sink cabinet and the toilet.

I flip on the light and try to get a good look at what's got him so bothered.

It's then that my heart stands completely still and gallops 100 miles per hour all at once.

There wedged up against the cabinet, in that little space left by the toilet, I see it. It's coiled up tightly--its business end swaying slightly as if in a gentle breeze. The diamond pattern along its length looks like sinister, deadly quilting.

Before I can even twitch, Maxwell lunges and somehow grabs hold of it without getting struck first.

I suddenly find my voice. I'm yelling "Drop it!" at Maxwell, but I'm not entirely sure that's the safest thing for him to do. I'm dancing around like a lunatic dressed in fire ants trying to find an opening where I can grab it away from him without getting hurt. I mean the two of them are a whirling dervish of fangs, teeth and growls--there's no way I can get my hands in there safely.

I can only imagine what that scene must have looked like from the outside.

By now Max has pulled one end of it out into the hallway, and this thing is huge. He's strung it from the cabinet to the doorway, and it just keeps coming.

Finally with his patented death shake, chunks are starting to come off, and it appears to stop moving.

I manage to get him to drop it, and good grief... We both just sat there panting.

It's then that the gravity of the situation washes over me. I mean at any moment my kids could have gone in there to use the bathroom and all the while it was lying wait. If they had reached their hand out...

Anyway, here's a couple pictures.

The aftermath, and the villain.

The hero of the hour.

Ok, well maybe I'm being a little over dramatic...

Maxwell Goes to School

Well, sort of.

Chilling for the ride.

Maxwell usually rides shotgun with me to pick up Emma from kindergarten each afternoon when I'm not at work.  He knows the ringtone I've chosen for the alarm I set to remind me to get her, and heads to the front door expectantly when it goes off.

It's just a short drive, but he loves every minute of it.

When we pull into the circle drive and assume our position in line amongst the other "car rider" parents, he can hardly wait for me to get the windows rolled down.

Roll down the window already!

We usually have 10 or 15 minutes to wait until the kids are released and escorted out to us.  Max stands in the open window and takes stock of who has jockeyed themselves into which position in line, thereby cementing their worth and status as a parent in the after school pageantry that is elementary school dismissal.  (Seriously. I've come to pick Emma early for a dentist appointment and there's people parked in the circle drive an hour before dismissal to ensure they have first place in line.  It's a little ridiculous.)  All the while the other parents do their best to avoid eye contact with Maxwell and appear as unimpressed as possible.  Comical really.  I probably derive entirely too much sardonic enjoyment from that fact.

Maxwell just loves to see and be seen.

However, Maxwell is very popular with the teachers working the car rider line.  We may have held up the entire line a time or two so a teacher can get their share of Maxwell lovin'.  One of Emma's favorite teachers (who doesn't even teach her grade) teases her by calling Maxwell by a different wrong name every afternoon.  Another teacher regales us with stories about her Great Dane puppy who is very close to Maxwell's age.  Still another always comments about how the softness of Maxwell's puppy fur brings her back to her childhood of raising rabbits.

I'm not sure why I'm continually surprised by how remarkable of a dog he is.  He's been on this Earth less than 4 months, and he knows almost without fail the absolute best way to greet each new person he meets.  Gentle, or motionless, or boisterous with kisses, or patient, or adamantly insistent--he is almost never wrong.

From where does such wisdom spring?

I've been trying to figure out Maxwell's personality.  So far he's full of that happy-go-lucky enthusiasm that only a little boy puppy can pull off.  But lately he's really struck me with some glimpses of empathy that seem to denote an old soul underneath that goofy veneer.

Regardless, I love my remarkable, goofy, singular pup.

Crushed in Spirit

I'm not entirely sure why, but the lines in Dickens' Oliver Twist sprang to mind yesterday evening:

"...when a young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven: and the gross air of the world has not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.”

Sometimes I feel so badly for Maxwell.  He has an inherently good, albeit mischievous air about him.  Telling him "No" is difficult at times, simply for the earnest gentleness he carries with him.  Occasionally I feel that being so rigid with him defeats his spirit, no matter how much a regimen of consistent discipline begets a loyal and obedient dog.

You see, yesterday evening my two youngest, Emma and Liam, and I were in the master bathroom getting ready for bath time.  My son takes baths, and my daughter showers, and they are both young enough they need supervision and help yet.  Maxwell of course was with us, because he truly loves to be around his family.  The following scene played out:

First my son was using the toilet before getting in the tub, and he is still at the age where his pants and underwear are around his ankles every time he goes potty.  He had his back to us, and his little booty was hanging out in the breeze.  Now, it was easy to see the impish wheels turning in Maxwell's mind, and he was preparing to bounce up and nip Liam right in the backside. 

Before it could happen, I sternly said, "No, Maxwell." 

His shoulders slumped and he sat down obediently instead.  In reality, if he had nipped Liam's backside it wouldn't have been the end of the world--in fact it would have been rather humorous really.  I can just imagine the mayhem that would have followed and it makes me chuckle to think about it.

Next, while I was bathing my son, out of the corner of my eye I saw Maxwell sneak over to the pile of freshly shed dirty clothes, root around, select a sweaty sock, and tiptoe away. 

"Maxwell, drop it."

Woefully he deposited the sock and sighed heavily.  He likely would have chewed a hole in the sock, and if he'd swallowed some or all of it it very well could have been dangerous to him.  But he sure was awfully cute swiping it, and really he just wants to immerse himself in his family's scent.  And the abject sadness in his eyes as he dropped it...

Then as I moved on to help my daughter rinse her hair completely in the shower, I glance over and Maxwell is standing front paws on the side of the tub.  Anyone can easily see it's a matter of seconds before he's in the bathwater with my son.

"Maxwell, down." 

Reluctantly he obeyed.  The mess a dog and a little boy in a bathtub together could make is substantial.  And is a boy really clean if he's shared a tub with a dog?  The two of them would have had a time though.  And I can hear the shouts of laughter echo in my mind.

Finally Maxwell sticks his head in the open shower door as I'm rinsing my daughter's hair.  He's chasing and snapping at the splatters of the shower water raining down.

"Maxwell!" comes the frustrated cry.

Again, his head dropped.  His tail drooped.  And this time he wandered out of the bathroom, obviously dejected.

It was then that Dickens sprang to mind.  In some regards it's silliness because obviously Maxwell didn't die.  (neither did Oliver Twist in that particular scene either, but that's off the subject).  But perhaps Maxwell's spirit gave way, just a little.  And isn't that a tragedy of its own?  Should he lose a small bit of innocence because he was acting just as he should?  Like a puppy?

What do we crush in others when we expect them to fit our expectations rather than who they truly are?

Coming Out

Photo Credit

No, I am not gay as the title might suggest (you can start breathing again mom).  In fact that is neither here nor there, and it has very little bearing on this post.  But the very fact that I feel compelled to make that statement has everything to do with this post.  It's the very reason for this post.

During the last week of March as the SCOTUS took up arguments regarding the DOMA the symbol you see to the left started popping up everywhere.  Starting with social media and quickly going viral it was everywhere.  It only took a few sightings before I put two and two together, realizing the meaning.  My first instinct was to change my FB profile image to reflect this simple graphic.

But I didn't.

Why?  Because I'm a coward.

I have many friends who happen to also be gay.  Not in a "token gay friend" way, more in a "Law of Averages" kind of way.  I enjoy being around smart, articulate, fun people, and given the cross section of America...  It makes me angry when people who don't know my friends discriminate against them.  I think it's stupid.  And it sucks.

So why then the balk?

Likely because I also have friends who are narcissistic enough to think they know what's best for every other individual on the planet.  That somehow gay marriage is going to single-handedly bring down civilization as we know it (we can only hope, right?).

So here I sit.  And I know this in no way approaches the level of anxiety some feel as they reveal they are gay to loved ones.  But I do feel a bit anxious about what some people in my life will say.  It doesn't compel me to change my beliefs, but rather I don't look forward to the arguments that may start.  And I may just flat out lose a friend or two.

Which is unfortunate.

I wussed out before, so now I make a stand for what I believe in.  I know this is a new blog with a limited readership for now, but it's a start.  And maybe it will make it easier to stand up in the future.  Not for gay marriage; for marriage equality.

Because bigotry sucks.  Sorry mom, but you taught me that too.

PS:  I'm typing this on my laptop in the local Chick-fil-A.  The irony is almost too much.

14 Weeks

This past Saturday, April 13, Maxwell was officially 14 weeks old.  Since he came home at 7 weeks, from that point forward Maxwell will have been with us longer than at his breeders.  Not terribly significant I'm sure, but maybe worth noting.

Also worth noting, Maxwell is 26.4lbs which is on the larger side of pups at this age.  This isn't surprising really, judging from the size of his paws.  We get comments on how large they are all the time.  And based on pictures of other pups his age, there is a noticeable difference.  My guess is he will be taking after his daddy who also sports the same large bone structure.

He is now eating 3 cups/day of Taste of the Wild Pacific Stream Puppy formula split into 3 meals.  I plan a post about feeding here soon.  As it turns out, what to feed your puppy is as hot a topic as whether or not to vaccinate your children.  People get all worked up, get angry, and argue like it's the most important issue facing humanity today.  He also gets a small bit of cheese and treats in his Kong at bedtime. He is sleeping well, about 8 1/2 hours most nights in his crate.

Anyway, here's some pictures taken Saturday to document his 14 weeks.

Goosebumps

This may not come off as significant to you as it felt to me--in fact you may think I'm silly.

However...

The other day as I was writing on the page here on the blog about Bo, our first Golden, I was looking at dates regarding both dogs.  Now, understand I was well aware of all these dates and could easily recite them if you'd asked.

But I'd never put the two together in context of each other.

When I finally did, I just sat in stunned silence as the prickle of goosebumps ran up my spine and my eyes smarted.

You see, in 2010 we said a heart-wrenching goodbye to Bo on February 22.  This year we brought home and said hello to Maxwell.  On February 23.

The very next day.

A new day indeed.

I defy you tell me Maxwell wasn't chosen for us.

Frameable?

There's my dapper boy.

Misty Morning

Soaking in the drizzly, misty morning.

My floppy-eared boy.

Gotta get a nose-full.

Denied

On Tuesdays and Thursdays Liam, our youngest at 4 years old, goes to a MDO program at a local church while his older sisters are in school.  It's pretty much Kindergarten Lite with a basic curriculum, play time, snack time, lunch time and rest time.  It starts an hour after and ends an hour before "real" school.  And it is a thriving program, so there are a great number of children, all under kindergarten age.

Given Maxwell's impeccable behavior the last few trips to Petsmart, (sitting on command, and then staying in a sit to greet new people) I thought my son's classmates might be the perfect next level.

It took me a few days to work my courage up to try it.  I mean, a 13.5 week old puppy and a horde of sweaty, squealing 3 & 4 year olds--what could possibly go wrong?

We pulled into the parking lot of the church, and Maxwell was pretty excited.  He was acutely aware that this was somewhere New, and could hardly wait to put nose to ground.  I got him out of the car and he did his "excited dance", prancing around and wiggling his butt faster than his tail can keep up.

It's remarkable how much this resembles the "potty dance" in toddlers, but I digress.

We struck off for the entrance with a purpose.  We were going to make people smile.

"Awwww," came the signal that we'd been spotted.  First customer in line was a tank of a 3 year old.  Belly hanging over the edge of the diaper sticking out of his waist band, he walked right up.

I had Maxwell sit, (he need a gentle tush push for his behind to actually contact the ground, but once he was there, he was money), while mom instructed the boy to be gentle and careful.  With serious eyes only a small child could muster and tongue sticking out in concentration, he very deliberately patted Maxwell on the head.  Maxwell lifted his nose, and gave the boy's forearm a lick. 

After this very sweet interaction, the little boy was done--mom mentioned as we moved on that he was "terrified" of dogs.

We then headed for the entrance.  As we neared the doors, I scooped Maxwell up and tucked him under my arm (getting harder to do now that he weighs so much) and headed for the hallway towards Liam's class.

It was then that he pounced.

This guy--he must be the facilities manager or something.  I call him the MDO bouncer (coined previous to this encounter).

"Excuse me! Sir? Sir! Sir!!," he barked.  "You can't take her in here!"

Now, I get it.  I really should have asked permission beforehand.  But honestly it didn't even cross my mind.

Dejected, we headed back out to the car.  Lucky for me it was very pleasant out, only in the low 60s.  I was able to leave my windows down 5 or 6 inches and Max had plenty of ventilation.  I dashed in and grabbed my son, praying the whole time that dog-nappers don't choose church parking lots to hang around.

So we went to Petsmart where at least we're welcome.

The employees there are starting to get to know us.  We got several, "Oh, he's getting so BIG!" comments today.

$35 worth of toys later, I think our my wounded pride was somewhat smoothed.

Conversations With Orion

Image Credit

One of my very favorite times of day I've come to discover, is Maxwell's last potty break of the night.  Since Maxwell gets excitable while any other activity is carrying on outside his crate, this last trip to the backyard usually occurs after everyone else has retreated to their rooms for the night.  I generally put the house to sleep before taking him out back, so it's almost exclusively alone time.

Now make no mistake, I live in the heart of the 3rd largest metro area in the United States, so this could hardly be labeled quiet time.  The ambient (and sometimes not so ambient) sounds of the city are all around.  However, the back of our house faces west by southwest which is essentially away from the more developed portions of the Metroplex, and so we do have some degree of lessened light pollution, if nothing else.

It so happens this orientation--at this time of night, during the winter months--also grants an unobstructed view of the Orion constellation.

And so I find myself, night after night, lifting my eyes to these familiar stars while I wait for Maxwell to do his business.  By chance and propinquity, Orion has turned into an old friend, a companion, a confidant, a paragon.

I admire him for his stoicism.  No matter my mood; no matter the subject of conversation, he greets me with the same affable silence.  He's not ever cranky.  He doesn't ever mock me, or belittle my feelings.  He listens with a quiet attentiveness.

I admire him for his tenacity.  Night after night he traverses the sky, always in pursuit of his mythical quarry. I have never heard him complain.  Solemn he stands, a bastion of perseverance.

Of course I know that Orion is little more than a grouping of gaseous stars hundreds of light years away.  In fact the light I'm seeing now was emitted well before I was born.  But he's been an unassuming constant in this life where so often I feel utterly lost.

Soon Orion will slip behind the blinding curtain of our own sun's daytime glare for the duration of the summer.  I will miss our unpretentious whisperings, and I look forward to picking up where we left off come Autumn.

A Little Dog and His Boy

After last night's thunderstorms, we woke up to cool April showers.  It's in the 40s outside, but between Maxwell and my son cavorting in the backyard, you'd never know.

They make the ultimate team.  Maxwell digs the holes for the puddles and the rain fills them up.  Then my son dons his "fireman boots" and jumps in them, much to Maxwell's delight.

Of everyone in the house, Liam is the one I was most worried about adjusting to having a puppy.  He is only 4, and with an acquired nickname of Destructo, you might understand my reservations.

In the beginning, Liam was excited about the puppy coming home.  But soon after he seemed to lose interest a bit; it may have had something to do with those sharp puppy teeth.  And Liam, the smallest in our family and being nearest to Max in size, was often the target of those teeth as Maxwell engaged him in play as a litter mate.

However in just the last week the boys have really taken an interest in each other.  Liam loves to sit on the couch with Maxwell.  And it is the sweetest thing to watch Maxwell slow down and interact with Liam.  Where there were nips, and tugs, and snagged clothes before, things have given way to gentle play and snuggles.  Maxwell and Liam have now connected far and away more than any of the other kids.

Beautiful really.