He never won any medals or ribbons. (Though he could have). He only won my heart.

He came to us, 4 weeks old. From a family of 10. Eight brothers and sisters. Mama refused to care for them. Daddy was helpless. That was Max.

He stayed with me for 17 years. (Longer than my first husband.) He was with me through the loss of a child, the end of a marriage, the death of my Granny, my Mom and my Dad. He was there when my son graduated middle school, high school and married his bride. He had been to a whole host of cities where we lived and visited. He'd even been to the Smithsonian. He played the best game of catch and nuzzled with me when I cried.  He became my best friend, my soul mate, my staunchest defender.Max was a beautiful, blonde haired, brown eyed boy. A full blooded, cocker spaniel, who had NO clue he was a dog.

Over the years, he learned to fetch the keys, from places I didn't realize I'd left them, sit on his haunches and beg for treats after he had brought me the full bag, and jump flat footed into the driver seat of my VW Beetle (circa 1968) when he wanted to go for a ride.He could spell, yes spell, as well as any  7 year old. He knew the meanings of words. He was special.

One sunny summer morning, about a year ago, I woke early and padded toward the kitchen to make coffee. I noticed, Max, who usually was the first riser in the house, was laying in the hall. He must have gotten hot during the night, I thought. The cool tile on his belly must feel good. I called from the kitchen for him. No familiar answer back, no cold nose on my calf. I peered down the hallway, to see his big brown eyes looking up as he struggled to raise himself. "Ah hah", I mocked him, "Cold tile for you equals sore joints". I gingerly picked him up, carried him outside and carefully placed him on the grass in his favorite spot. He struggled again to raise himself, only to fall. My heart sank. Could he have had a stroke during the night? I held his back side so he could do his business, and then I noticed the blood in his urine.

I must have sounded like a mad woman, neighbors opened doors and peered out over balconies, one ran to my side. My husband, ran outside. All I could do was scream orders. "Bring me my keys, phone and his blanket", I shrieked.

At the vet's office, I held him close, nuzzled with him while the vet checked him out. Dr. V looked over his glasses at me, tears in his eyes. "It's time" was all he said. I held on to the exam table to keep from falling to the floor. I knew this day would come. But not today. I wasn't ready for this. Dear God, not today. I prayed that God would let him stay longer with me. I was selfish that way. But Max was 17 years old. For a cocker spaniel that's an old man. His kidney's had failed. His liver was too. It was time for me to be the grown up again. I'd had no choices, no power with death before. Surely this couldn't be the case here. Surely Dr. V could do something. This sweet, sweet man, who' d cared for all of our pets, wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'll give you a few minutes". I held my buddy close, I kissed his now dry nose, and promised him he'd hurt no more. Dr. V returned with a syringe and begged me to leave. "NO!!" "This guy has seen me though the last 17 years. No way am I leaving him now." I held him until the last breath left his body. They wrapped him in his blanket and we left. Max is buried under his favorite oak tree. In a yard where we no longer live. Max lives in my heart. Forever.

This article was written with some sweet inspiration from San Diego Momma, and PromTuesday . Drop by for your own inspiration and read some other great posts.

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Tags: cocker spaniel, favorite spot, God, Max, soul mate, sunny summer morning