My Sweet Puppy -- Maxx

My sweet little puppy -- I should say, he's 90 pounds of pure white fluff, and 10.5 years old. Maybe not so much a little puppy, but so very sweet.

I want to tell a story on him. Last spring break (3/07) my youngest son and I went to Florida leaving my puppy in the capable, kind hands of my neighbor. She also had a dog and worked as a home care provider for animals. Very qualified. I never worried once about Maxx being in her care.

What I did worry about was how Maxx would respond with us being gone. Before we left, he would eat hard food from his bowl. Always had. I left bones for Ashley to give to Maxx, and his pills for the arthritis in his hips and legs.

We were gone ten days. We had a great time. Not so good for Maxx. When we got home Maxx was not eating, and hadn't the entire time we had been gone, except for the bones Ashley had given him.

For the following three weeks, he continued his fast. Until, he began throwing up bile. It was no longer a matter of who was in control here - me or my puppy. He had to eat. So, I bought soft food, he wouldn't touch it. Then I tried canned dog food and put it in a bowl, thinking he would eat.

No. He turned his nose up at that too. I had one option left. Hand feeding. Since April 2007, I have been feeding my sweet little puppy canned dog food (which, by the way, he changes his tastes on an almost daily basis), from a fork. Not just any fork. It had to be a plastic fork. He didn't like the feel of a metal fork in his mouth, so plastic it was.

There is a picture of him on the side. Imagine a 90 pound Great Pyrenees 10.5 year old dog eating off a plastic fork! Needless to say, there won't be any more vacations for quite awhile - unless of course, we can take my puppy along.

As he has gotten older, he has become even more particular about what he will and will not do. This morning was a great example of that.

It has been raining for the last four days. He will not go outside in the rain. If it's a small sprinkle, that doesn't bother him, but this morning it has been anything but a small sprinkle. He sits in front of the window and looks outside, barks at whatever seems to catch his attention, lays down, goes to the window again, and may even go to the door.

I've opened the door for him to show him the rain pouring down, and he will simply walk away. Now, you should understand he has a fur coat so thick it would keep any rain from getting to his skin, but, no, he won't go outside. He won't step in the puddles, and he doesn't like the rain in his face.

I can't say I blame him. I don't like it either, but today I had to go to work. But, I couldn't go. So, I had to call in. What could I tell them but the truth.

"I can't come in today because my dog won't go outside in the rain."

You should have heard the laughter on the other side of the phone. I'm so glad my circumstance was the source of so much joy.

It's a day of lost wages. I can make up the money. That's not what's so important. Taking care of my sweet little puppy. At his age, I never know when his last day is going to be, and he's been a part of my life since he was six weeks old.

Then there's the way he looks at me. He has these deep pools of black eyes. He sits in front of me and implores me to read his mind - and somehow I do. We communicate so easily. Who could possibly look in his face, his eyes, and not want to hand feed him with a fork?