An Irreplaceable Existence (Final Draft)

His body shook, and he could barely keep his balance. When he did manage to walk, it wouldn’t be without soon toppling over. Stairs which he would once make short work of became and impenetrable wall. He was barely eating or drinking, and eliciting any kind of reaction out of him was a trial in and of itself. It was on this dismal afternoon in July of 2015 that I first posed to myself the question, “Could this be the end?”

It was a bright summer day in the year 2000, on a rural road outside of London, Ontario. Fields of green stretched as far as the eye can see, or so I recall. We pulled up to a lone house in the expanse of the countryside, where we were greeted by a man with a scruffy beard and tattered clothing. He directed us to a wooden pen of modest size, inside of which were contained some dozen Jack Russel Terriers that couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. After some deliberation, we left carrying a puppy with dark brown spots, one in particular covering his entire face, a feature that set him apart from the rest of his family. It was on this day that Max joined our family. Now, it’s but a fleeting memory.

He grew quickly. The puppy that could barely walk was soon full of energy and dashing about, his white coat shining in the sunlight. I can vividly remember the sight of him running circles in our backyard at impressive speeds. I simply couldn’t keep up. He could also jump astonishingly high. In fact, if you took him into a field of tall grass, he would hop through it as though he were a rabbit. It was a delightful sight. This Jack Russel Terrier, so sprightly and playful, was the perfect companion for a child of my age. It would only be a few years later before we moved back to Thunder Bay, and it was only natural that he come with us.

It was in this new environment that I can piece together some of my earliest memories of having ventured out together with Max, collar and leash. He was so quick that rather than walk, I would be forced to run with him. Even during the frigid winters, we would dash between the snowbanks and leap through the snow. Back then, my father would turn our backyard into an ice rink each year, and the sight of Max sliding around unnervingly and unable to maintain his balance was infinitely amusing. We would move yet again, just before I was to enter high school.

I’m sure he was pleased with our new home. The yard was twice as large, with a fine wooden fence, and a couple of tall, sweeping trees. If you were to give him a soccer ball, he would push it around with his snout for what seemed like hours on end. Sometimes, I would take him to a stream nearby. He typically avoided deep water, but would readily submerge his paws were it shallow enough. Still, he was brimming with curiosity. His ears would perk up at anything and everything out of the ordinary, and he wouldn’t hesitate to let his voice be heard. It seemed like this unrivalled vigour of his would last forever, but in reality, all of those years he was aging just as I was.

And so we arrive at my current residence. It became clear that Max’s stamina was decreasing. He couldn’t jump nearly as high, and while he could run fair distances, it wasn’t with the same speed. Nevertheless, we were able to make it out on the trails for some years longer. However, it was around this time that I began to notice the toll that the passage of time had taken on him. His face, once a dark brown, was turning grey, and cataracts forming in his eyes. He was still visibly healthy, but his once exceptional canine senses were waning. It took a while to sink in, but I would have to accept that he was soon approaching the end of his lifespan.

I say that, but I don’t think it ever really sank in. Not until that day.

It came without warning. In July of 2015, his condition worsened suddenly. It was especially shocking for me because he had no history of medical issues in the past. I was truly pained to see him in such an unfortunate state, but in spite of his condition, I couldn’t bring myself to accept that his time might have come. My parents were out of town at the time, so I brought him to a veterinary hospital myself to have him diagnosed. Much to my dismay, even the experts I spoke with were unsure of the cause of his current condition, and instead pointed to his age. I was asked, quite frankly, “Have you considered euthanasia?” At that time, my heart skipped a beat. It was out of the question. I implored them to look for alternatives, and after an examination of his blood, I was provided with an antibiotic. I had no choice but to put every last shred of hope into it, lest our fifteen years together come to an end…

Skip ahead to present day, and Max is back to his usual self. It took a few days at most for the pills to work their magic. Stunning, really. The most I got out of the veterinarian was that he came down with some kind of an “infection”. Whatever it was, I’m terribly relieved that he was able to pull through it. However, having yet to lose a loved one in my lifetime, this experience opened my eyes in numerous respects. The passage of time cannot be stopped, and we must all part ways at some point. I know that his time is coming, and as much as I might like to think that this experience has helped me to prepare for it, I anticipate that overcoming it will be my greatest challenge yet.

But for now, I look into Max’s cloudy eyes and see the same dog that I grew up alongside for most of my life. The same dog that I created so many memories with, and that continues to be there for me when I’m feeling blue. The same dog that waits eagerly for me to return home, day after day, and greets me with a smiling face and unrelenting howl. I’m confident that it is thanks to Max’s energy that I’ve been able to keep moving forward all of this time. He has been with me since the beginning, and as my closest friend, he means more to me than I can possibly put into words.