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.