Cloudcroft Maximilian
April 1, 1996 - August 13, 2013
April 1, 1996 - August 13, 2013
Max
You're such a good boy.
I got the call today, I didn't want to hear. But I knew that it would come.
Our dear sweet Maxy passed away. He was 119 in doggy years. Seventeen to you and I.
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I remember seeing you for the first time.
You were born on April Fools day and were so little and cute.
The kids couldn't get enough of you and constantly dressed you up in different costumes.
You were born on April Fools day and were so little and cute.
The kids couldn't get enough of you and constantly dressed you up in different costumes.
You were always a good sport and loved the attention, sitting so patiently while they used you as their mannequin/victim.
What a sweet sweet boy you were. You never bit anyone.
You could however, lick someone to death. A habit we were never able to break you of.
We couldn't give you a stuffed animal or a squeaky toy and the kids were instructed to never leave one within your reach 'cause you'd chew it apart in minutes and we'd find its innards and pieces scattered all over the house.
We opted for the rope toy instead.
You loved other animals too. One summer day you attempted to meet a cat.
You sauntered up waggin' your tail to say 'hi' and was welcomed with a sharp swat across your face.
You were quite dumbfounded and avoided cats from then on.
You were quite dumbfounded and avoided cats from then on.
What a wanderer you were. You loved the outdoors.
If given the chance, you'd sneak away to explore.
Many times, we'd drive around the neighborhood yelling your name,
frantic something bad had happened.
frantic something bad had happened.
One night, when the tide came in, you ended up trapped on a log and we had to wade in to rescue you.
Eventually, your wandering ways did cause you harm.
I remember that day.
You limped out of the woods covered in blood and panting, your shoulder was nearly ripped off.
I gathered you in my arms and ran up the trail, frantic and screaming for help.
Damn raccoon.
You didn't deserve to be attacked, but I understand wild animals and their wily ways.
I still don't like raccoons though.
After being stapled back together, you returned home three days later wearing the cone of shame.
It was quite annoying to hear it scrape on the floor and up against the furniture every time you moved.
We joked about how you looked like a dog from outer space.
We joked about how you looked like a dog from outer space.
We nursed you through the horrible ordeal and felt so bad you'd been hurt so brutally.
Then little Violet came along.
When Violet arrived, you were 84 and turning into a grouchy old man.
The last kid was about to leave and we thought another dog would be the answer to the upcoming emptiness in the nest and help you feel young again.
You tolerated Violet, but I think you were just too old to be bothered with a puppy.
It showed. You longed to be around little kids again.
You lived out your last days deaf and nearly blind with our nephew and niece and your best buddy Puckett, a half black lab and Russian wolf hound.
Both of you spent many hours together barking on the fence line.
Of course, if the gate was open, you never missed an opportunity to escape and wander, but you were always found.
Puckett died last year and we knew it wouldn't be long until you followed.
I pray you and your best buddy Puckett are runnin' free, diggin' holes and chasin' varmits in that big green field up there.
Thank you for loving everyone you met.
You'll be greatly missed.
Much love,
Mama