Life With Max: So Long And Thanks For All The Fleas!

As you no doubt know by now, I recently babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

Sadly, Max's time with me is over. His parents came to pick him up a few days ago. 

Needless to say, Max was happy to see them. Did I say happy? Maybe ecstatic is a better word. He practically leaped into their arms and knocked them down trying to lick their faces. They brought his little dachshund sister Rosie with them, and he was happy to see her too.

I often speculated on what Max thought about being at my house. Did he wonder what happened to his parents and little sister? Did he think he'd done something wrong, and had been banished to my house? Did he think about them at all?

Who knows? He didn't seem too awfully upset about it. He didn't visibly pine for them, and seemed like he had a good time at my house. In fact he fell into my routine very quickly. Maybe it helped that I took him for nightly walks and gave him plenty of attention.

He seemed to readily accept me as his new human caretaker too. Whenever I'd sit on the floor, he'd come over, lay down next to me and put his foot on my leg. I guess he didn't want me to get away, like his previous humans. Awwwwww!

One thing I won't miss about watching Max— taking him out to poop and pee. On paper it's not that big a deal— take him outside, he does his business, we come back in. It was never that simple though. I'd take him out and he'd spend a good ten minutes finding the perfect spot to pee, because he was constantly distracted by falling leaves, the dogs next door, distant car horns and who knows what else. Getting him to poop was even worse. He'd wander around my back yard (on his leash, of course) for up to half an hour. Finally he'd sniff at the ground, start walking in tiny circles, work himself into "the position" and then— he'd abort the process. Jesus Christ, Max! You're taking a sh*t, not splitting atoms! Squat and get it over with already!

During the three weeks he was at my house, I bet I spent a combined total of at least twenty four hours standing in the backyard while he performed complicated equations designed to align his ass with true north so he could relieve himself. That is not an exaggeration.

Max was a surprisingly good boy the whole time he was at my house. He only got in trouble one time, when I found a handkerchief lying on the floor with a large hole chewed in the middle of it. I guess he just couldn't resist the siren call of my delicious snot rag, and dragged it out of the dirty clothes hamper so he could chew it up. Yechhh!

Despite that minor transgression, I enjoyed Max's time with me, and would gladly watch him again. I suppose I ought to think about getting a dog of my own one of these days.