(Forgive me if I digress from art for tonight.)

He was 14.5 years old and the sweetest boy one could ever want to have as a companion. Letting him go today was deeply painful and bitter sweet.

I've been a dog lover my entire life and will die one, I'm sure, but no dog has ever been more of a well-behaved, sweet, slightly neurotic companion than Max. He had to have been schooled by angels before he arrived for his earthly duties. He cared for my sister and tolerated her lifestyle with the patience of Job, or at least Job's dog. He came to us terrified of being deserted, but learned over time that we wouldn't let him go.

Max was my comfort during my surgical recoveries, my buddy when I worked alone in the studio, my confidant when I needed to talk. He loved every person he ever met, although he was less than thrilled with tall men. He didn't hate them, just wasn't sure they could be trusted. Hey, he lived with a short family!

I believe that dogs are one of God's gift to human kind. I know they started as wolves, I know they were probably domesticated as a food source, but they have evolved into pure wonders of devotion, affection, and absolute happiness when they are treated with the love and respect they deserve.

I miss Max terribly. I will continue to miss him for a long, long time, as I miss all my canine friends who had to go on ahead. But, oh, when I reach heaven I will be met by my wonderful dog pack(ed) family.

I ask for Max an army of angels to kick the ball back to him when he wants to play soccer, and he will, and a never-ending supply of fuzzy carrots to satisfy his fetish. Yes, he was an odd boy, but such a sainted creature. St. Francis, look over him please.

Barbara