27/07/2024
I want to tell you about my best friend Max, who died yesterday at nearly 14 years old. We named him after Max Fisher, the character in Wes Anderson's film Rushmore because he was a trickster at heart. He was a working dog, a Border Collie, steadfast by nature, wise, and loving. He taught me much about empathy and how to appreciate the little quirks that make each creature unique.
Max loved people and other dogs. And he was fastidious. When he was digging for moles with his cousin Teela, she would end up covered head-to-toe in mud, while Max would be mortified by his slightly soiled paws. Max was the very model of a meticulous gentleman. We thought he was the Cary Grant of dogs.
Max was a fighter. As a puppy, he nearly died of Parvovirus but bounced back enthusiastically. When we found out he had hip dysplasia, we got him a hip replacement so he could continue being our running, jumping, fun-loving dog.
He had a knack for playing possum about his hip, pretending he couldn't climb on the couch. But we knew it was a ploy when we found him standing on the dining room table at Thanksgiving with his head in a bowl of whipped cream. He looked up at us with those big eyes and cream-covered jaws as if to say, "What?"
He was a great companion in the studio and never complained about Pink Floyd albums (like his cousin). For my wife Sandra, he was her gardening partner. He would find a cool place under the shrubs to supervise her work when he wasn't trying to "help out" by digging arbitrary holes.
Today, my heart is broken, and there is a hole in my life where Max used to be. But I am forever grateful for the joy, love, and unforgettable moments he brought into my world. Rest well, my friend Max Fisher. You will be deeply missed.
