Maxwell Silver Hammer

In Memoriam

aka Mad Max, aka The Buddy

By Steve O'Rourke

Max came into my world 12 years, 10 months ago from a litter of 8 Schnauzer puppies in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was 9 weeks old at the time, so he lived just beyond 13 years. I remember picking him out because he was an active little guy and seemed like a good fit with what I wished for in a companion. Little did I know how much of an impact and attachment that first meeting would turn out to have for me. He became quite a handful as his assertive behavior was equal to his fearless view of the world. After two dog obedience schools -- the first of which I failed -- Max became a good dog with most of my concern for his well being, as well as the well being of others, in check. We became very close friends and, regardless of what some experts may say, he learned certain words -- especially ones that revolved around food or adventure.

His first year, I nearly lost him in the mountains of Utah. He was enjoying the smells in a field of wild mountain flowers, when an eagle hovering over head contemplated having Max for an afternoon meal. Fortunately, Max heard my whistle while he was up ahead and moved, which gave the eagle time to reconsider its dive. It would later turn out that his life would be given more than its fair share of near adversity as he had several major medical problems to deal with over the years. I always considered it a paradox that a dog who averaged about 30 pounds could take what life dished out, yet never lose his spirit, his strength of heart or his character. He was truly a gift to my life as he not only became a loyal and devoted friend, but provided me countless hours of entertainment, happiness, love and frustration. I always wanted Max to be just a dog who didnít need to know a lot of tricks or commands. I just wanted him to be a good boy, and for the most part he was. As Max got older his personality grew with him. He came to have other people in his life who affected him as much as he affected them. This week there is more than one candle burning in his memory, and I am truly touched by all those that have cared about his passing.

These past months Max had many visits to the Wrightsville Beach Pet Hospital, with one complication after another. He would have that eagle over head and somehow come back for more of what life was to give him. Living in a new town, he was fortunate to have such excellent care. Dr. Simmons and his assistants only knew Max for about one year but they were quite taken by him. His infirmities did not shadow his brave heart. I had the good fortune to spend a lot of time with Max, and to care for him as best I could in his final months. We also spent time at the beach, some days for a short walk and some days just sitting looking at the waves, smelling the air.

His final day, as was our routine, I carried him across the soft sand to the waterís edge and he walked a little and looked at the waves. We stayed longer than normal and I sensed he knew to savor the smells and breeze just a bit more. As I carried him back across the soft sand to the sand dune path, he turned in my arms to take another look back. I put him down and he slowly walked into the dune grasses, perhaps looking for that eagle over head. His most recent struggle with diabetes and a failing thyroid, along with other underlying problems, was just too much. He tried but could not pull off what he had done so many times before. One thing was certain, Max was never a wimp. He took it all as a quiet little man, still holding onto our daily routines.

That night he weakened, frequently tapping at the back door to go outside to pee and get sick -- all very neat and in order, as was his way. He would come back in, take a few licks of water and lay on his bed. In the early morning hours, both of us exhausted, I placed him on my chest and he rested peacefully for a couple of hours, as he had done so many times over the years. Having not held food for nearly two days, his little body failing, he still managed to comfort me in my grief. I now understood with each passing minute his unconditional love for me. I cannot recall a more tender and tranquil moment than those two early morning hours brought. It was his final parting gift to me. I knew, as did he, that it was time to let go.

Max as a puppy. Under his own power, Max walked into the vetís office and at 8:05 am November 30, 1996, he left this world with a quiet dignity. He took with him an orange bandana, a prized T-shirt of mine, a couple of milk bones and my eternal love. I will miss him a great deal.

His paws and presence touched both oceans, numerous locations throughout the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon and many other places enjoyed by both of us. He had a good life. Some of Maxís ashes will be spread in Alta, Utah near the place where the eagle flew over him those many years ago. I think he would have liked that.

I now run along our little stretch of beach thinking of Max by my side, young again and ready to run out ahead for the day's adventure. My footsteps move forward as he would have wanted. Happy trails, Max. I'll catch up with you later.

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