Max

I never considered a Sheltie for a pet; we had always had Golden Retrievers, Beagles, German Shepherds, and any number of mutts.

Only once did I amend my own rigid "dog" list after coming to know and love the most fierce, blind Yorkie a person could ever meet.

But a Sheltie? Wasn't on my radar.

Well, my Mother and Stepfather really didn't much care what any of us thought back in the early days of 2005 when they adopted a Sheltie named, Max.

He had a troubled history with owners; Max was fine -- his owners were NOT. At the hands of these people he had apparently suffered from emotional abuse; he had been isolated for long periods of time -- as a result he was not well socialized.

Our parents fell for him at first glance; he apparently cleaned up well.

They took him home for a trial period. I believe the first thing he did on entering the house was "pee" on some furniture. After that, I am told all he did was stare at the front door apparently waiting to "go home." It is sad to think he may have preferred the life he knew with some abusive owners in his past rather than making an effort to bond with people who would give him a very good life.

I met the dog two months into their courtship; by this time Max had made serious inroads adapting to his new life. He had come to believe in and to trust the two of them -- he was, however, not going to tolerate anyone else being added to HIS mix.

When they picked me up at the airport, Mom was seated -- strategically -- in the back seat alone with Max. He was having NONE of this odd looking stranger. I have never endured such an intense silent interrogation; unflinching coal black eyes daring me to make a single move or to utter even a monosyllable.

Most dog people have rarely met a dog they don't like. Well, I had that day -- I honestly wanted no part of him, either.

The picture of the two of them on that couch seems sweet -- if not posed. But is wasn't. This is the position he assumed every time I came anywhere near my Mother. Whenever I dared to move closer, his mouth assumed a menacing snarl.

I had never met a dog like Max. But, I was also equally determined to win him over.

With time his defenses wore thin; he came to gradually accept the strange people called "family" who continued to move into and out of their life -- with no adjustment required of him other than accepting a great deal more attention -- and snacks.

He eventually became more of a people person -- er, dog.

Best is that he became Mother's second shadow; she could go nowhere without him following her every move. And as Mother became increasingly ill, he gladly took on the added role as her "nurse." He had become completely devoted to her.

I remember one night when an agency nurse was not available; another brother and I were in town so we took on the role of caring for Mom overnight while our stepfather attempted to get some much needed rest. I was asleep in the greatroom when I was awakened by the touch of something cold on my face; Max had become concerned for Mom and sought out my help -- he nudged me with his wet, cold nose so as to get me to my feet. Mom had truly needed assistance.

So it is that I came to love Max. He, too, has learned that the boundaries of love are not limited to the three of them -- we all share in a love for him which makes his life even better.

Max and the rest of us have gone through alot together; we are all intent on making Mom's life tolerable as her illness progresses. And now I actually savor every opportunity to look into his warm dark eyes and revel in his happy bucktoothed smile.