When Love Came to the Door
One late autumn Saturday morning, my neighbor, Sarah, who lived in the basement apartment below me, knocked on my door, asking for a cup of sugar. I opened the screen door to invite her in and beside her was a caramel coloured, walking Teddy Bear — a bichon-poodle mix with curly-haired cuteness. His name, she said, is Max, named after the dog in the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Max was staying with her for the next week because his owner was out of town.
After getting her cup of sugar, Sarah turned around and returned to her apartment. Max plodded trustingly along beside her, his ears flapping in the wind. I shut the door and turned around, stopping for a moment to catch my breath. I felt like I just met my new heartthrob.
I tried to get the dishes done, but I couldn’t get Max out of my mind. I had to see him again. For the next half hour, I schemed and plotted on how I could see him one more time. I tried to deny these persistent, desperate pangs of yearning, but they just wouldn’t go away. How could a dog who I had just met take such ahold of me?
An idea came to mind: “Well, maybe I could do Sarah a favour — she has two cats downstairs in her small apartment. I could be a good neighbor and offer to look after Max for her.”
Yes, I would be doing HER a selfless favour!
Calmly and nonchalantly, pretending I didn’t care that much, I knocked on Sarah’s door. Max barked to let her know someone was at the door. When she opened it, Max was wagging his tail ferociously. He was happy to see me! Me!?
This well of sadness and joy came up inside of me — one of my deepest childhood wounds is walking through the front door after school to a grumpy stepfather who saw me as nothing but an annoying burden. He hated when I came home. So having this strange dog be excited to see me just for my sheer existence was something that filled that part of my soul I didn’t know was empty. He just loved and trusted me for me.
When I suggested I could take Max off Sarah’s hands, she was thrilled and relieved, thanking me profusely. In fact, she wanted me to look after him for the WHOLE WEEK! My insides were jumping up and down. I was not only going to see him again, he and I would be hanging out for days on end.
I put on his leash and started walking Max out of Sarah’s door towards the sidewalk. He followed along loyally, his gentle paws patting the ground beside me, his face looking up to me and his long pink tongue hanging out. I swear he was smiling at me. He gave me his full trust.
He came into my place willingly, and I set him up with a bowl of water. I picked his 9-pound body up over my shoulder, as if I were swaddling a baby. He nestled his neck inside of mine and fully surrendered into my embrace. Max melted right inside of me, leaving a forever footprint on my heart.
I cancelled all my clients I had booked for the weekend and started planning out what he and I could do together. What parks could we go to? What special events? I quickly realized how un-dog friendly the world is. Why can’t we take them to cafes and restaurants? Why aren’t they allowed to go into stores? My reasonableness flew out the window and my bias as a dog-lover took over. I felt the angst of a world that excludes dogs.
Max, for me, clearly was more than a dog. He was a buddy, baby and lover all wrapped up in one.
Over the course of the weekend, Max and I went to a local writers’ festival. As we walked in, I quickly learned that I wasn’t the only one who thought Max was wonderful. People pointed at him and said: “awwww…he’s so cute!” Many young kids wanted to pet him because they saw their stuffie come to life. Life with Max meant having to stop every two seconds for people to goo and gawk at him. It was like walking with a celebrity who had to stop and sign his autograph for his adoring fans.
Over the weekend, Max and I laid together on the bed, his tiny body stretched out on my belly. He stared longingly at me, wanting my undying attention, and I was willing to give it. We read together, played fetch together, walked together, laughed together. He followed me wherever I went — and whined when I left the house.
Hanging with Max gave me a glimpse into what kind of mother I would really be if I had kids — the one who spoils her child rotten with whatever toy, candy or passing fancy they want. I would no doubt raise an entitled child. But that didn’t matter because Max was a dog and he was allowed to be indulged.
I pampered Max with a bath of natural shampoo, and I even paid to adorn him with a purple feather on his ear (which I found out later was much to the dismay of his tough-guy owner who wondered what the hell happened to his dog and what kind of hippies were looking after him).
On Sunday afternoon of that weekend, I had to go out for a bit without Max, knowing I would be back soon enough for us to be together again.
When I returned and walked through the door, he wasn’t barking, he wasn’t running up to me with his floppy ears. His tongue wasn’t panting to show that he was excited to see me. No wagging tail, or hugs. “Where’s Max?” I asked David, my partner at the time.
“Oh, Heather, Max has gone back home to his owner,” he replied. “He picked him up early.”
“What? What do you mean? What happened? He was supposed to be here for the week?” I went into a panic, tears rolling down my cheeks. I was in utter shock and heartache. David hugged me, trying to comfort me, as if I had just lost the love of my life.
Thinking that maybe he hadn’t left Sarah’s apartment quite yet, I went down to see if I could have one last goodbye with Max. She said he went home to Mark. I burst into tears. It just couldn’t be this way. I told her how much I fell in love with Max, all that we did together… “Would I ever see him again?” I desperately asked. The look on Sarah’s face was priceless. She wasn’t that fond of Max to begin with, thinking he was a spoiled brat dog, which he was. She couldn’t understand how I was in torment over this D-O-G that took up too much space.
She explained that Mark might need a dog sitter in the future and she could keep me posted. Short of calling Mark and telling him that I would pay him to dog-sit Max, demanding that I needed to be the first person he thought of, I encouraged Sarah to stress to Mark that I am more than happy to care for Max. Little did they know, I was plotting to kidnap him if I had to.
Days passed by, and I still couldn’t keep Max out of my mind. David and I went to the humane society, just to see if there was a similar breed as Max. There was a white female dog named Daisy who we met and played with. But it just wasn’t the same as Max.
Then Mark called and said he was sorry to bother us but wondered if we could take care of him. Could we? Of course! I was through the moon again. The thought of seeing Max again flooded of feelings of love throughout my body. I said to Mark: “Who are you that you have a dog like Max?” He gruffly responded: “Oh it’s not me, man — it’s all Max.” Then I understood why Mark called his dog Max — because Mark saw himself as the Grinch.
We didn’t know how long we’d have Max, but that didn’t matter to me. I’d take as much time as I could with him. A couple of days or forever, I was just happy to spend time with him again.
While we were dog-sitting Max, Sarah came up to ask if we could be flexible on how long we would dog sit him. She said that Mark had gone away for some time and she wasn’t sure when he’d be back. This lingo of “gone away for some time” sounded familiar to me. “Sarah. Is Mark in jail?” I asked, half curious and half hoping this could be true so I could spend even more time with Max. I have this weird pattern in my life of taking care of animals for people who have gone to jail.
“Well, yes, but please don’t tell anyone. He’s turned himself in after running away from the police for 2 weeks. Max was with him the whole time,” she explained.
“So Max was on the lam, too?” I kind of joked to lighten the conversation.
I explained to Sarah that I had no judgments of Mark as I know these things are complicated. I also didn’t need an explanation of what happened. I’ve met people before who had done time. All I really cared about was getting a chance to be with Max.
I wanted to jump for joy, but my guilt of possibly benefiting from another person’s misery got in the way.
Apparently, Mark was in jail until he could get bail before his actual hearing. This would mean I could potentially have Max for a week or even a month. Trying to stay somber and serious while my insides were exploding with excitement about Max, I empathetically listened to Mark’s situation.
It also meant that there would be serious consequences for me if I even attempted to kidnap Max — Mark probably knew some intense people and had questionable connections.
After Mark got out on bail, he came by to pick up Max. As soon as Max saw Mark come through the door, he turned into a squealing little puppy! He jumped up and down and licked Mark all over his face.
This big burly hardened construction worker, the man who many would want to hate because he has committed a violent crime, burst into tears when he saw Max. “Max, you’re the only one who understands me, you’re the only one who has been there for me,” he cried. I started to cry, too. This level of love Max had was reserved just for Mark — their bond ran deep. Max was the only guiding light for Mark — a true angel in dog form. What Max could do for this hurting man was beyond what I could do as a healer. It was nothing short of touching and it made me fall in love with Max even more.
Max helped me have even deeper compassion for Mark — a First Nations man who went from foster home to foster home as a child and never had a chance to live a normal or safe life. He didn’t know what true love or what a healthy family was like. I could relate mildly to his journey, as I was once considered to be an at-risk youth from a troubled home — not as troubled as Mark’s but challenging none-the-less.
On the fated night, Mark had fallen off the wagon and drank far too much. Something that a so-called friend was counting on. Apparently, when Mark drinks, his temper flares. His “friend” goaded him on to beat up a particular guy at the bar. So much so that he put the man into a coma for two months.
Sure enough, when it was time for Mark to serve his full sentence of one and a half years, he asked if we could look after Max. We agreed to give him back when he came out of jail, even though I knew that would be the hardest thing to do.
About 9 months passed by. The phone rang. “Will you accept a call from the Penetanguishene Correctional Centre?”
My partner pressed the button to affirm “yes” to take the call. It was Mark calling from prison. This was probably one of the few calls he was allowed to make that week.
He said that it was selfish of him to consider taking Max back because we were all bonding. He knew that Max deserved stability and a home and said we could keep Max. I was shaking with joy that we could keep Max, yet deeply touched by the level of sacrifice of Mark, who chose to do what was best for Max. I don’t know if I would be so self-less if it came to giving up Max.
I sent Mark a letter, thanking him for giving Max to us and shared some stories about what the little guy was up to. A few weeks later, we received a letter back, stamped with the correctional centre insignia. Mark wrote that he so glad that Max was being taken care of so well. He stated that “if there was one good thing I have done in my life, it was giving Max to you guys.” Here, this hardened man doing prison time, cared so much for his dog and was pouring his heart out over this small teddy-bear named Max.
We never saw Mark again but whenever I look at Max, I think of his generosity as well as his inner struggle that so many share in this world — of feeling bad, unlovable, unwanted and horrible and inflicting that violence onto others.
I really do believe that Max’s purpose on this earth is to open up the hearts of many. If I’m the one human who can help him accomplish that, then that’s purpose enough for me.
