On Max

Max and I found each other back in 1997. He is 11 years old now. But looks exactly the same as the day he came home with me. I was going through a very hard time in my life and had just moved into a house with a very good friend. I had talked about getting a dog, a Corgi to be exact, but my friends all tried to convince me to get a pound puppy. They also made me promise not to go alone to the pound since they knew I would end up bringing the entire pound home with me. But one afternoon on my way into work I thought I'd stop in at the local shelter. And as I walked down the isle looking in each cage I just didn't see the right dog. All of them were barking non-stop. Except one little guy who was happily playing with a tug toy. All the other dogs in his kennel were jumping all over the place and barking at me, but not Max. He didn't even turn to look at me. I checked his tag and they said he was a Corgi mix. And that was it, he had to be mine.

I asked an employee about him and all she said was that he was mean. And would probably be destroyed. He still had to have all his temperament tests. And even if he passed those (which she doubted) then he would have to be fixed so the soonest I could have him would be the following Tuesday.

I told her that he was mine and I was going to adopt him.

"We'll see" was all she said to me.

The very next day the shelter called me and told me I had 24 hours to come pick him up or they would take him off reserve. I asked them why the sudden change from a wait of more than a week "IF and only IF you didn't destroy him."

"Oh," she said to me "He's a very sweet dog, passed his tests with flying colors and he's already fixed. So do you want him???"

Of course I had just gotten to work and was working during shelter hours for the next two days. But my staff simply handed me my purse and told me to go get my dog. So I told her I would be right over. I stopped at Walmart on my way and picked up a leash and collar for him (I had planned to do my dog supply shopping over the weekend) and then went and got my buddy. I brought him into work for everyone to see.

And we have been inseparable ever since. He moved to Minnesota with me riding in the car we had hitched to the moving van. And he took to the snow like, well, like the bred for cold weather dog that he is. He LOVES snow.

A few years ago while walking around the park a woman stopped me and informed me that Max was a very rare breed called a Swedish Vallhund. It was a very odd encounter and I just went about our walk. When I got home I told the hubster about it and he looked it up on line. And then I hear "Uh, honey, you need to come look at this."

Well, I'll be damned but that is what Max is. He isn't a corgi mix, he's a rare breed. And ironically probably the ancestor of the corgi. A viking dog that rode the ships with the great warriors. A dog noble enough for Valhalla.

And that is what my little man is. He is noble.

But he did fool me, he barks A LOT! Too much some days.

He is a herding dog. And he sure herds his brothers and sisters. He is also excellent at agility. We even took agility for fun last year and he was a natural.

He is also a dog that attracts strangers. A dog that every man seems to adore. A dog that had an entire club of big burly tattoo covered Harley guys rolling around in the grass in play with him. Honest, I wish I had pictures. It was a slightly unnerving gathering of some tough looking guys. But dang if they didn't get all mushy and cutsie over Max.

And when we take him to the Renaissance Festival we get a line of people waiting to pet him. I'm not kidding, an actual line forms of people waiting to pet our dog.

So there you have it, my Max, my friend, my little bubba.