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Official Website of
ATCA Rescue & Adoption Committee
National Airedale Rescue, Inc.
MAX In 1993, an angel entered my life by the name, commonly enough, of Max. According to his papers, Max had been through two families in the Pacific Northwest before finally landing in the San Francisco Bay Area where I rescued him from his third family. To their credit, they gave him up for adoption because they clearly could not handle the rambunctious Max. Little did I know what having an Airedale would entail, especially someone of his beautiful and wild spirit. It took considerable time for me to realize that Max was my soulmate, and that, in fact, he was my rescuer and teacher. I've never bonded to another person, of any species, to the extent I have with Max, and I doubt I ever will again. I'm left with photographic images of him on every wall of my apartment and the running film I have in my mind of our life together: Max dancing, which he did with magic; Max prancing, which he did upon seeing another dog that he wanted to impress; Max clowning with his butt in the air and front legs sprawled out in front of him, which he did to great effect to get out of trouble. Alternately, I cry and smile. One of my favorite days with Max, which I cherish, was a day when we went to the beach with some friends and their dog, Tessa. We rode out in a convertible with the top down. I rode shotgun with Max on my lap. As he sat on my lap, I gave him good lovins' all the way. When we arrived at the beach, it was almost deserted except for us. Max was absolutely blissful. He galloped the entire length of the beach and frolicked with Tessa in between. On the way back, shotgun with my partner again, more good lovins'. When we arrived home, he was so sweet and loving for the perfect day. Like we all do for members of our families, I had many terms of endearment for Max: Loveboy, Love, Lovelove, Babe, My Darling, My Sweet, My Beauty, My Man. I couldn't wait to get home to see Max. If I went out and couldn't take him, I would invariably think, I can't wait to get home to Max. I loved taking care of him, cooking his dinner, bathing him, trimming his golden locks, and massaging his increasingly stiff musculature. My family and friends loved Max too. When he left us, my sisters came from great distances to mourn with me. On a brisk January night, with my sisters and friends and neighbors, we honored Max with a beautiful farewell ceremony. He was, and still remains, my noble, stoic, honest and eternal friend. Occasionally, but not often enough, Max comes to me in my dreams. Sometimes during the day, I talk to him and tell him he is still and always will be my loveboy. Sharon Arnold |
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