B.J. and his wife, Kat, adopted Max from a local adoption group. They were in love with him before he even came home and they made sure that he had all the accouterments he could possibly need to live a comfy, suburban life. They bought him a dog bed for every room of their house, installed a doggy door, bought plenty of toys and raw hides, got him a water fountain drinking bowl, even a food dish that automatically fills at 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. every day, so that no matter what they were up to, Max would always get fed on time.
About a week after they adopted him, B.J. and Max were out for a walk when a neighbor decided to use his leaf-blower. The sudden loud noise frightened Max and he reared back, pulling his head out of his collar. Before B.J. could grab him, Max ran off down the street. B.J. took off after him, calling frantically, but the dog was too fast. My friend watched, horrified, as Max darted across a heavily trafficked street, dodging cars. And after that? There was no sign of him at all.
B.J. ran back to his house and loaded his pockets with treats and squeaker toys, called in sick to work, then went out again to canvass his neighborhood. With his heart in his throat he walked the streets calling out to Max, begging him to come home. After more than three hours of fruitless searching, B.J. went home to make the dreaded 'Lost Dog' flier. As he sat down at his computer he heard Max's dog bowl ding, then the soft shuffle of kibble being dropped into the bowl. The realization that his sweet dog wouldn't be home to eat dinner was too much for him, and he burst into tears. Then he heard the doggy door slap shut. He held his breath. It must've been his imagination. But then - the familiar click-click of Max's nails on the kitchen tile. B.J. rushed into the kitchen and there was Max, snarfing down dinner. Damn dog knew it was time to be fed and didn't want to miss a meal.
B.J. Serviss, Kat, Me
P.S. Max wears a harness now.
8/4/09
