I used to watch his dachshund Lucy for him now and then (before she sadly passed on), but she was an older dog who was very calm and no trouble whatsoever.
Max is a different story. He was an absolute nightmare the first year or so of his life. He was completely out of control, and every time I'd go to my friend's house I'd spend the entire time trying to fend off Max, who was constantly biting and scratching.
Then my friend got a second dog— coincidentally another dachshund— and Max immediately calmed down and became much more well-behaved. Maybe it was his new "little sister's" influence. Or maybe when he saw my friend bring home a new dog, he realized he could easily be replaced and decided he'd better shape up.
Whatever the reason, Max is finally tolerable, and I actually like being around him now.
It's a well known fact that shelter workers lie about their dogs' parentage all the time. They do this because they know if dog has even a single drop of pit bull blood in it, the majority of the public won't want anything to do with it, and the poor mutt will spend the rest of its life in the shelter.
As near as we can tell, Max is a boxer mixed with... something else. Most likely pit bull, but who knows?
Even though Max has improved quite a bit, I was hesitant to babysit him when my friend asked. Three weeks is a lonnnnnnng time. A long time. I suggested that before I made such a lengthy commitment, what if I did a "trial run" with Max, and watched him for just a weekend? So that's what I did. A few weeks before my friend's trip, I brought Max to my house for a couple of days. He did pretty well! He didn't knock over the TV or soil the carpet, so I agreed to watch him during the big trip.
So that's what's going on right now. I picked up Max on Friday evening (right after I voted early) and he's been staying in my house since. So far so good.
I discovered that Max makes an excellent alarm clock. Saturday morning I woke up around 6:30 AM and saw him sitting patiently next to my bed, staring at me. I figured he needed to go out, so I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed and took him outside. There I was, standing bleary-eyed on the back deck at 6:30 in the morning, watching a dog take twenty minutes to find just the right spot to pee.
When he was finally done I flopped into bed and tried to go back to sleep for another few hours. Max had different ideas though. He farted in my bedroom, and the stench was so horrifying and persistent that I finally threw in the towel and just got up. At 6:45 on my day off. Touche, Max.
Here he is guarding me from the ghosts in the kitchen. Note how alert he looks, as if he's really watching something out there. The kitchen's completely empty! There's no one in there! At least no one I can see!
I don't really believe Max is seeing ghosts in my house of course. There are 4, count 'em four noisy clocks in my kitchen, and I suspect he's hearing them ticking and trying to figure out what all the noise is.
On the other hand, I know for absolute fact that someone has died inside the houses on either side of mine. It's entirely possible that someone died in this house as well, and I just don't know about it. Maybe Max can see 'em and I can't. If he starts suddenly performing tricks, as if being directed by an unseen trainer, then I'm getting outta here!