Max’s greatest adventure begins
Yes, my incredible, ever true, best friend has met his end. Max has died of cancer at nine years old.
This photo of him was snapped on Friday, tumor obvious, at a favorite spot of his – the creek behind my dear friends Brent and Teri’s ranch. I am also including links to blog entries I’ve written here at StartupNation about Max (with some reluctance, I might add, given this is a business website and is typically inspirational in spirit, but I ultimately concluded that the human side of all of our business endeavors is worthy).
In reverse chronological order:
Max’s 18-month run from the time the tumor first appeared (and surgery was performed) was nothing short of miraculous. Even after hemorrhaging externally twice over the ensuing months, Max astonishingly healed his wounds contrary to the predictions of the three sophisticated vets I utilized. This required intense stewardship on my part – an entire lifestyle focused on him, I’d say – but the big perk of this heavy effort was an even tighter synchronicity between him and me. I’m sure most people would call it, unusual.
Even in spite of these best efforts, the cancer ultimately won. The blood-vessel-based cancer overworked his bone marrow, and he simply could not win the battle against the extreme anemia and other out-of-whack blood levels that were caused by the massive and hungry tumor stripping his blood of key ingredients.
Maximus Sloan went on the ultimate adventure on a beautiful Friday evening, June 26, 2009 at 6:10pm here in Sonoma, CA.
Just that morning, as the photo shows, he had a relaxed romp with Louie and Lola (Black Lab best friends) in the creek out behind the ranch where he found so much joy these past months – undoubtedly the best days of his life. I’m sure that he exhausted whatever energy that remained in his too-thin body to experience those last happy moments, buoyed in the cool water.
After the creek, though, he made it crystal clear. Time to go. It was just like my friends had told me, “He will let you know.” And he did.
He left this life from my backyard later in the day, laying in my lap, gazing out at the cow pasture behind the house and what we had jointly named “Coyote Hill” where the pack ignited in yaps every time a siren was heard in town. Max met those yaps with howls.
My amazing vet performed her work to set him free ever so carefully and lovingly, crying and whispering at one point into Max’s ear that she loved him. Like so many people, she had fallen in love with him, too.
Max was breathing those blissful, audible exhales – his trademark version of purring – as I buried my hands into his still-wet-from-the-creek coat and muscles, massaging him. At the end of one complete exhale, he just stopped. No inhale, no inhale, no inhale and he slipped away.
I talked to him the whole time, ensuring him that he would never be left alone and that the many friends he made would always accompany him. I wish that you could have spent time with Max. It would have brought you joy.
I had dug a grave for him under the noontime sun that day while he watched. The spot was a favorite of his, Michelle’s place. Where along with his dog buddies, River, Cody and Cedar, he played chuck-it, sometimes hoarding 3 balls at a time in his mouth, and was always at his tail-wagging happiest.
It was hard doing the digging, but having done it now, can’t imagine any other way to begin the process of letting go. Friends said, you’ll have to have a back-ho dig that for you. They thought the clay and rock soil, baked by summer sun, would not let me in. I guess they didn’t know how much I loved Max and how much I would bleed for him to ensure he had a perfect resting place.
After putting him to sleep that evening and sitting with him alone for a while, I carried him—limp, but still so beautiful—to my car where I enshrouded him in my bed sheets, as if in a Roman toga.
I drove to the grave location with my rear view mirror cocked down, glancing at him there in the back, still so beautiful.
It was a perfect burial and perfect ceremony with many of his closest friends, dog and human attending. Tears streamed from under our sunglasses, dripping off of our jaw bones. Poems were read. Photos of his friends and of “Max moments” were passed around for all to see and laid in with him until his entire body was covered in a pictorial of memories and special people, each photo with a story shared. Rose petals and sprigs of lavender (where he used to stuff his tennis balls and get high) were sprinkled. A lottery ticket was included for fun. A warm piece of chicken from Broadway Market in one bowl. Water in another. Tennis balls in twos, just like Max used to leave them on the lawn. At the very last, wishing I could still be with him, I took off my shirt, scented from the grave digging in 95 degree heat, and tucked it under his chin.
It was a beautiful ceremony, befitting that magnificent, magical, one-of-a-kind Max.
Over the weekend, I decorated his grave site, built a fence around it to keep my dear friend Michelle’s mischievous chickens out, planted flowers and lavender, laid some cedar mulch around the perimeter, set up a folding chair and a half-barrel table and just sat there, crying, paying homage to the relationship and so many moments good and difficult – a very full life and a larger-than-life friend – and said my final goodbyes. I let him go.
There were so many moments. Swimming in Lake Michigan with his parents, Romeo and Juliet. Swimming in the Red River, the Platt River, Lake Huron, the fountain at the ranch where I keep my horse, the kiddie pool at Michelle’s, the Pacific beaches around San Francisco where he learned to body surf, the fountain at Jeff’s house in Scottsdale (against the sternest “No, Max! No, Max!” commands). The hikes through the woods of Northern Michigan, Metamora, Michigan, Mt. Tam, the Wyoming Rockies and Mt. Rushmore (shhh, illegal). Chasing squirrels, digging for gophers, keeping the coyotes at bay. And his personal breakthrough of making friends with so many dogs and horses with Michelle’s, Brent’s and Teri’s assistance.
And one last memory to share that just keeps coming to mind:
Max loved to “lead” on walks. There was never slack in that leash. He had such an incredible urge to move forward, to see what’s next, to adventure. On certain occasions, he was allowed to run off leash, way out ahead. Just fine out in the country.
The enduring image seared into me from one of those sun-dappled walks (off leash) is of a curving trail alongside the vineyards. Max was 70 yards up the trail, vibrating, excited. I remember him stopping, squaring off, tail up, snapping his head back toward me and giving me the look, “Are you coming? Are you with me? Are we cool? Can I go? COME ON!”
I have no idea how this world works nor where Max’s spirit is at this point, but as these past few days’ events and unwindings give way to a new week and a new world, I can feel the tug of Max looking back at me, asking, “Are you coming? Are you with me? Are we cool? Can I go?”
Yes you can, Max. Go on! Run like hell! The tumor’s gone. The blood is strong. The eyes, the nose, the ears are alive. The heart is full. The spirit fills you!
This is going to be your best adventure yet.
July 1st, 2009 at 2:59 pm
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge — myth is more potent than history — dreams are more powerful than facts — hope always triumphs over experience — laughter is the cure for grief — love is stronger than death”…..you both felt love. Hugs across the pond at this deeply sad time. Best Px
July 1st, 2009 at 3:09 pm
My heart goes out to you. Last year I lost my beloved cat Daisy that has been with me throughout my college years and first work years, through every move, hardship and every beautiful moment……she left suddenly, I wasn’t even home…feel blessed that you had time for your good-byes. Sounds like his eternal resting place is overwhelmed with beauty…and peace, what a great, thoughtful and loving owner Max had!
July 1st, 2009 at 3:38 pm
Rich,
My heart is heavy as i read your last moments with Max. The love of a companion runs deep. You and Max had something very special and letting go is never easy. He is running through beautiful flower filled fields, that gorgeous blonde hair blowing in the wind. He is now at peace… He could not have had a better caretaker and friend then you….My thoughts and prayers are of you today…
July 1st, 2009 at 4:38 pm
Rich,
I am so sad to hear of Max’s passing. I know how much this hurts to lose your best friend; my heart just breaks for you. He was a big part of your life for many years. You wrote a beautiful tribute to him; and you always did right by him, right up to the end. Rest in peace, sweet Max.
Hugs to you, my friend.
July 1st, 2009 at 5:02 pm
This was simply magnificent. A fine and fitting tribute. Thanks for sharing it with us.
July 1st, 2009 at 5:14 pm
It’s never easy losing a loved one, and animals are in this category too, as they are part of our family.
Max was lucky to have you.
You have my sympathies.
July 1st, 2009 at 5:18 pm
oh Rich I just read the blog. I have no words, and I now have tears too. Max is so lucky to have had a friend like you, and Max never gave up, either, despite the human doctors putting a toe tag on him prematurely.
They enrich our lives so much, dont they? Cherish those memories, and dont forget to cry, and cry hard as much as you want. Your heart deserves it. <3
July 1st, 2009 at 5:30 pm
Sandee, you know, this experience has tought me the value of crying. you are right about that.
thanks so much to each of you for your regards to Max and me.
strangely, i am still so concerned about him… it’s hard to make your caring just screach to a halt.
July 1st, 2009 at 7:33 pm
Rich, my heart goes out to you. I am so sorry to hear the news. Max was truly blessed to have you as a friend. I’m sure Max is looking down at you, smiling, and chomping on a huge, delicious bone right now!
July 1st, 2009 at 10:46 pm
I am very sorry to hear that, Rich. Dogs are like your kids. And most dogs are probably better than people. They understand you.. They love you no matter what.. They are there for you.. I am sorry for your loss..
July 2nd, 2009 at 12:45 am
Sorry to hear the news. God bless.
July 2nd, 2009 at 1:14 am
one thing i’ve learned in this process for sure: friendship makes you rich, even in the worst of times.
July 2nd, 2009 at 2:00 am
Rich, thanks so much for including me on the distribution of your most eloquent tribute to Max. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d have never met! He captured the hearts of my little boys on our walk that hot summer day in SF only to discover that we were neighbors living a few blocks away…
My thoughts are with you and am wishing you much solace. May the memories you made together last a lifetime and comfort you throughout your days.
All the best wishes,
Mary S Rockman
July 2nd, 2009 at 6:46 am
Rich - I lost my dog Max at 6 1/2 - still think about him everday. And you’ll do the same with your Max, and with that his memory and the joy of him will love on.
July 2nd, 2009 at 7:19 am
Rich,
What a beautiful tribute - in the midst of great sadness, you managed to very eloquently put into words the depth of your very unique relationship. Yet another way you’ve honored him. I don’t know how the world works either but I do believe that whatever allows us to find those special animals that become more than a pet, more than our best friends - whatever makes those beings possible in the first place - will also keep your two spirits connected, always.
Taylor and I are thinking of you both.
July 2nd, 2009 at 9:09 am
Rich,
My dog Nick lived 14 years. His needs dictated so many of the decisions Julie and I made in our lives. Looking back those decisions were the best ones we ever made. When he came into our lives (my friend found him on the side of the expressway) we were looking for a new home. We ended up on almost three acres with a trout stream in our back yard so he could run and play. About ten years later we were moving to New York City, we ended up living just a few doors off Central Park West so he could play in the park in the big city. We bought a VW camper so when we traveled we could take Nick and camp. He kept our lives in check. He had a way of looking at you as if to say “chill dude”"life is good”. His love of life brought out our love of life. He brought us down to a level of just being happy. Your loss is a big one. As my eyes well I thank you for telling your story as it reminded me of mine.
My thoughts and prayers are with you my friend!
July 2nd, 2009 at 9:23 am
Steve,
It’s so funny you describe this gift Nick gave you. I’ve been laughing to myself during long runs over the past few days how Max delivered me to the best place, best friends, best quality of life I’ve ever had. Living in Sonoma, wine country, was inspired by a quest for space and country livin’ for Max, but still close enough to a metropolis so I can do my work.
Exactly Nick’s influence, reincarnate, and hopefully for so many of the wonderful others who’ve commented here, Tami, Josh, and more (in reverse order)…
Thanks so much for the epiphany.
July 2nd, 2009 at 10:51 am
Hey Rich, I think Steve just perfectly defined “Dogitude”, don’t you think?
July 2nd, 2009 at 11:28 am
Oh Rich, I send my prayers to you and your family. I have followed your journey with Max and the moments I have read about you both, have been all so sweet. Cherish the memories! They are Priceless Moments!!!!!!
When you have the time Rich, make a collage of Max I think it will help bring so much joy to you and your family!
July 2nd, 2009 at 11:35 am
Hah! Definitely “Dogitude”! Forgot about that…
Who’s loving up their dog today, extra special?
July 2nd, 2009 at 4:08 pm
Don’t ever apologize for sharing something as sensitive and endearing to you AND the readers. As our family’s yellow lab, “Sierra”, was diagnosed with a tumor several months ago, your story resonated with me as we are blessed to still have her with us but observe all the traits and signs of her illness as it catches up with her and knowthat time is precious. I couldn’t read your story without tearing up as so many similarities exist in feelings and “dog” experiences. Good “stuff”. Thanks for puttin’ it out there.
July 2nd, 2009 at 8:43 pm
Hi Rich,
My heart is heavy with empathy for you. I know only too well what you must be going through. There is simply no loss like the loss of your best four legged friend. They love us so thoroughly in a way only a dog can. In the last 8 months I lost both Nellie and Chewy. My friends of 12 and 13 years. I just need to tell you, there is no doubt in my mind that Max is romping, running and swimming, pain free, full of exuberance and joy. He is thankful for all you did for him, and he loves you now and always.
You gave him a beautiful tribute, demonstrates your great love for him.
kt
July 3rd, 2009 at 3:36 pm
Hey Rich,
I have lost a few dogs in the past and we have one that isn’t doing so hot right now, so I am feeling for you.
Remember all the good times and how they love you unconditionally.
Talk soon,
John Henning
July 4th, 2009 at 6:05 pm
Rich,
A brief note to express my sympathy on the loss of your long time companion, Max. The affection you held for him was well expressed in your chronicle of his final days.
Best,
Armando
July 8th, 2009 at 12:42 am
This was beautiful.
I felt right there.
Thank you.
July 8th, 2009 at 7:47 pm
Rich,
Thank you for sharing this with me. This was beautiful as was your relationship with Max. You were very fortunate to have each other.
July 9th, 2009 at 8:25 pm
Dear Rich…
What a beautiful tribute to a beutiful friend - I treasure my Max moments from Scottsdale and thank you for filling my heart as I think of Max running free ….My thoughts are with you Rich - Onward, Darryl
August 3rd, 2009 at 11:04 pm
Rich,
I remember Max as a puppy, a big, happy bundle of the softest fur ever. I have always thought our stewardship of animals brings so much joy. The bond between the two of you was beautiful to see.
Ellen
August 13th, 2009 at 2:21 pm
This brings back many fond memories from my lab who passed away when I was 13. There is nothing like the relationship you can have with your dog. Great read. Thanks
June 29th, 2010 at 11:45 am
Thinking about you a LOT today, Maxie!
You are the best good boy EVER!
Hope your face and paws are covered in dark, loamy soil from digging up gopher holes and that your coat has the slight sent of dried saltwater from bodysurfing in the waves at Dillon Beach and that you have coyotes to bark at and great dog friends around to pal up with and defend your turf, like Lola and your mom and dad (Juliet and Romeo) and hope too that you have met Beau. Indian chiefs like hawks - I’m sure by now you know what i’m talking about.
love you SO MUCH. I still bury my face in your mane and inhale and massage your neck and shoulders until you grunt and better than ever before i have fun with you UNLEASHED in all of our favorite places. in the lakes, the rivers, the fields, the forests, the horse farms, the car rides, the trails, the towns, you live on!
Love, love, love,
your dad
June 29th, 2010 at 2:15 pm
Mr Rich…what can we say…apparently Max needed his girlfriend by his side on these adventures!! Always know that we miss Max, and will always treasure those times at the ranch for they really were the “TIMES”!!
Love ya brother…B
June 29th, 2010 at 4:25 pm
We all miss him ! He brought such great joy to the entire Sloan family. While he was a lover he was also full of mischieve. He wil always live on in our heart and mind. love you Max, PaPa
July 10th, 2010 at 3:46 pm
Rich I am thinking of you - i still weep occasionally for my cat Frannie who passed three years ago - we spent nearly 20 years together. Animals are often more amazing, loving, and loyal creatures than humans choose to be. Thank you for sharing this story with me - you are a gifted writer. See you soon in Santa Monica! Love, Ali
August 14th, 2010 at 7:48 am
It’s too bad that dogs don’t live as long as they could. I’m glad you had a good life with him..You keep his memory alive with this article.