A Weekend with Max

The weekend with Max seemed to last a month. Max wasn’t just out-of-sorts and irritable; he was mean and grumpy. Max had several years on me and showed it. I thought he was mad that I came and was just grouchy because he was old. But I was wrong.

Maybe I should start at the beginning. My name is Jackson, but everyone calls me Jack—except when I’m in trouble. This is a story about me and Max and a very long, troubling weekend. My grandpa encouraged me to write this because I learned so much that weekend
that he thought others would like to share in my experience.

Even though I’m young and quite small, grandpa says I have lots to offer about life. He’s helping me write this because I’m a dog—a three year old Bichon Frise.

How I Started Writing

Grandpa and I discovered we are a good writing team last year when I stayed with him and grandma for a week while my mom and dad went on their honeymoon. Grandpa is a writer, but he was having trouble thinking of what to write. He said he waits for inspiration for his articles, but that week everything that popped into his head was about me. Finally, he figured out that I was his inspiration—sometimes it takes grandpa a while to catch on. He typed up the article I gave him and lots of people liked it. That’s how we started

You might wonder how a small dog can have ideas that are helpful to humans. I wonder that, too. I guess my experiences with life aren’t much different from those of humans—less complicated most likely—but maybe that makes it easier to see how they apply to everyone.

I have another grandpa and grandma who live in Illinois. This story happened while I visited them one weekend a few months ago. We arrived in late on a Friday after our long drive our home in another city. This grandpa and grandma had a dog named Max.

He wasn’t happy to see me when I arrived; he acted put-out at the thought of sharing his home with me. I’ve heard that old people are grumpy, especially when something changes their routine, so I figured that was why Max didn’t welcome me with curious sniffs and wuffs.

Showing Off

I have lots of energy, and I get really excited when I greet people I haven’t seen for a while. I jump, run, and bark to get attention. Being old, Max didn’t join in and didn’t appreciate my playful activity. He just watched me, probably thinking that I should be saving my energy for when I get older and need it. Grandma and grandpa made a fuss over me, of course. That’s the whole point of showing off. When I captured all their attention, I guess Max and I got off to a bad start.

I could tell he didn’t want me around, so I stayed out of Max’s way the first day we were there. That wasn’t hard to do—I was really tired from the long drive and napped most of that evening and all night. The next day Max and I adopted an uneasy truce. He didn’t like it that I was there, and being young and immature, I laughed at his old ways. We avoided each other the early part of that day, so I didn’t feel welcome, but tolerated. But then I did something that changed the whole weekend.

I’m not proud of this, but I ate some of Max’s food. I love to eat, and his food was really good. I sniffed around his food bowl several times, but he didn’t take the hint and offer me any. He shooed me away with a mean stare and a low growl. But when he left the room I sneaked a taste.

Just a Bite

It tasted so good I couldn’t wait to eat some more. So whenever he wasn’t looking I sneaked some more of his food. I did that one time too many, and he caught me. He was mad—so mad that he attacked me and bit me on the neck. It hurt. Max didn’t act very old then; he was quick and strong.

The bite hurt, but what hurt worse was how I felt inside. I was angry and ashamed. Even though I’m young, I know right from wrong. And it’s not right to take something that isn’t mine. I was mad, mostly at myself for what I did. But I took it out on Max, blaming him instead of accepting responsibility.

Maybe you can understand how I convinced myself it was Max’s fault, not mine. I told myself—and Max—that he had plenty of food, and I only sampled a little bit. I convinced myself that Max wasn’t being a very nice host, either. He wasn’t glad to see me in the first place, and just used this small incident to justify attacking me. Finally, I used the argument that he was just an old, grumpy dog—I’ve heard that old age and grumpiness go hand-in-hand.

I spent the rest of that weekend as a lap dog—making sure I was in someone’s lap at all times so Max couldn’t get to me. Mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, all felt sorry for me because Max bit me, so no one complained when I climbed to safety in a lap. I had Max’s usual spot in grandma and grandpa’s laps. I was the center of attention, and Max was left out.

Finally, it came time to leave. I didn’t say goodbye and didn’t apologize for my part in our fight. Feeling superior and right, I pranced out to take my place in the car for our long trip home. Something inside me felt wrong, but I pushed it aside.

Max Wasn’t Old and Grumpy

Max died a few weeks later. He had been sick when I was there, but we didn’t know it then. He wasn’t grumpy because he was old. He wasn’t irritable because I intruded. He was that way because he was sick. When I think of what I did, and all the terrible things I thought and said about him I feel awful. I want to apologize to him, but it’s too late now.

When I told him this story, grandpa (my writing partner) said not to be so hard on myself, that this was a valuable lesson for me. Looking back, I do think there were some things Max helped me learn.

Learning Life Lessons

I had jumped to a conclusion about Max’s behavior without thinking of other explanations. Maybe if I had been friendlier to him he would have told me he was sick. I think one of the lessons I learned from this was not to judge others, and especially not to jump to easy conclusions, such as old people are grumpy. Now, whenever I hear someone say, “Well, you can’t teach old dog new tricks,” I bark out “Yes, you can!”

When I sampled Max’s food, I was stealing. I know stealing is wrong, but I did it anyway because I wanted the food. I’m ashamed of doing that. Before I do something, I should think ahead and imagine how I’ll feel after doing it. If I can always do things that make me proud when I look back on them, I think I’ll be a happy dog. I know this will be hard for me, but I think I can do it.

Max bit me and that was wrong. But I shouldn’t have put all the blame on him. I got mad at Max to avoid admitting it was my fault. I’ve learned that maturity means accepting responsibility for what I do—even if it means I’m wrong.

Finally, I learned to show my love for all others, no matter how they behave. If I can just remember that everyone is doing their best, I think I’ll be able to always love everyone, even grumpy, older dogs. If I had sent Max my love instead of my contempt, maybe we would have become friends.

I think of Max often now. I love him for the part he played in helping me grow up. I wonder if he knew he was helping me learn and grow. I like to think he did. I like to think he did this out of love for me.

Thanks for reading this story,

Jack

[ratings]