I was twelve when Max came into my life. The long-awaited school break had finally come, and for weeks I had been relentlessly pestering my parents for a dog to share the summer vacation with. My exhausted father eventually succumbed to my constant pleading, and to my joy we left early one morning for the local animal shelter. I was overwhelmed by the large number of dogs that greeted us enthusiastically on arrival. Each vying for attention as my father and I walked slowly through the compound. I wanted to take them all home with me, but sadly I knew I had to choose just one.
And then I saw Max. He lay motionless in the corner of the cage, the image of despondency. As I approached, he tentatively raised his head to make sure that I continued walking, like the myriad others who had come before me. I paused and looked directly at him, calling out to him softly. With a look of disbelief he rose slowly to his feet, taking a few hesitant steps before suddenly rushing to the front of the enclosure, fervently kicking the thick wire that separated us.
To the casual observer, Max was nothing more than a scruffy half-breed, but to me he was the most beautiful dog in the world. We spent countless hours that summer happily exploring the creek that flowed gently nearby. At night, Max would lie next to my bed, his soulful brown eyes looking at me seriously as I told him about my future plans and dreams.
The summer deluge of rain came unexpectedly that year, bringing three days of torrential downpour that incessantly hit the roof of our home. When the sun finally appeared, I was eager to venture with Max to explore the newly formed emerald green landscape formed by the sudden storm.
My parents instructed me in no uncertain terms when they left for work not to go beyond the yard until the stream returned to its normal level. Ignoring her warning, Max and I soon walked expectantly toward the creek bed.
I was surprised by the transformation of the streams. This was not the gentle meandering current he remembered, but a brutal, seething surge of roaring water that rushed fiercely through rocks and fallen branches into the whitewater below.
For a fleeting moment I felt the primal fear that the power of Mother Nature is capable of evoking, but youth and inexperience prevailed, and I foolishly headed for the troubled river. Max seemed exceptionally restless, stopping frequently and barking loudly, as if trying to dissuade me from continuing, his instincts were more in tune than mine.
As I walked alongside the swirling stream, my confidence grew and I got closer and closer in hopes of seeing better. I did not notice that the jagged rock jutted menacingly out of the undergrowth and stumbled and fell head first into the icy water. He was stunned by the violent force of the current as he was enveloped in its powerful claw. Desperately, I tried to swim, only to find myself being propelled further down the stream, the weight of my tennis shoes and jeans dragging me down with each useless blow.
He could hear Max’s frantic barking as he ran along the stream in pursuit. It was then that I realized I was drowning, my lungs were about to explode as I gasped desperately for air as I repeatedly plunged under the surface of the water.
When panic seized me, I suddenly felt something touch me. It was Max. He had jumped into the frothy cauldron and was now swimming beside me. With my remaining strength, I put my arm around his back and grabbed his fur as he pushed me to the safety of a shallow enclave within the creek.
As I stood in the shallows with Max, I was overwhelmed by the realization that I was still physically intact, still breathing in the warm morning air, the life-affirming touch of the sun’s rays reassuringly enveloping my shaking shoulders.
I never told my parents about my close encounter with death that day. He was too ashamed and knew that anger and guilt would consume them. It was a best kept secret between Max and me.
As the summer wore on and the younger years turned into men, Max and I remained inseparable. As I placed flowers on her grave the morning she died, I gave her a silent prayer of gratitude for the time we spent together. He had not only been my best friend and companion, but also a giver of life. A life that was determined would be lived to the fullest, forever treasuring the loving memory of a dog named Max.