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The Home of the Cyber Shark(s)

BBBAAAAAWWWWW is the sound they make…. that's descriptive enough, right?

Growing up we had a variety of pets: hamsters, fish, cats, dogs, and at one point a squirrel.

The very first dog we had as a family (ie: I was born and alive, and this blog is all about me, so any dogs had before my triumphant entry into this world don’t count) was a Keeshond named George (named after the musical in  my dad’s theater at the time, Sunday in the Park with George, and all those Looney Tunes cartoons with the loveable doofus, the Abominable Snowman who constantly asked “Which way did he go George, Which way did he go?”).

We we born around the same time, me and George, so I always considered him my brother. We had lots of fun growing up, such as pulling his tail….

and taking him to the park nearby when it snowed and tried to trick  him by leading him with false prints in the show. He always found us.

One of his quirks, because he was such a big fluffy wintery dog, and we live intemperate zone with all four seasons, was his method of staying  cool in the summer. He’d dig a hole and lie in it. It looked like this:

Sadly, one day he began to throw up.He’d lay down all day and then would stand up and go throw up.  My parents took him to the vet, and every day I’d ask how he was doing.

“Fine” they’d say, or “we haven’t heard, and no news is good news.”

I remember the day perfectly, it was a nice spring day, I was in Brownies, we were doing arts and crafts, and my mom was there being a mom type person at the meetings, like all the moms do, and I asked her

Me:

How’s George?!

Her:

We haven’t heard anything yet.

Relieved, I went back to gluing things to other things. And then we crossed the street and

Mom

George died today.

Having your entire world fall apart at the age of 7 is pretty traumatic.

I cried all the way home. Cried during dinner. Cried cried cried cried cried. Cried myself to sleep.Cried myself to the point of having hiccups.

But I was 7, and I missed George, and I loved George, but there were still hamsters to take care of, and fish to forget to feed, and video games to become frustrated at.

On the way home from school one Wednesday, my mom asked me and my brother

Mom

If you guys could pick a name for a dog, what would it be?

Me

Gizmo!

Jay

Whatchamacalit

Me

Gadget

Jay

Raphael

Me

Doohickey

And there was, when we got home, a puppy waiting for us.A small little thing with milky eyes that they got from the ASPCA even though it was clearly too young to be without its mother. Had he not been scheduled to be put down we never would have got him.

After a few weeks of him bonding with my mom, who was forced to feed him through an eye dropper, he began to eat from his bowl and get to know the rest of the family.Especially me.

I'd watch him while he ate

I'd watch him while he just sat

I'd watch him in my sleep.

And we eventually named him Max. Maxamillion.Maxwell. Depended on the day really, but I still think of him when I hear “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”

Max got bigger, and dopier and one summer day we were preparing to have a barbecue. By which I mean dad was barbecuing food, and we were going to eat outside.

The window in our kitchen was eventually replaced with a door, but it was still a large window that looked out into the backyard where we passed dishes and silverware back and forth to set up the table without going out the side door and through the gate into the backyard. I hated doing that because there were often spiders and bugs that way, so I’d go out the front and around through the driveway side gate. It was a small price to pay for not having to deal with bees and spiders.

He was getting big, as I said, and would put his head and paws up on the window sill. One day this happened.

So the dog decided he'd jump through the open window.

I imagine this is how he felt

“Ha ha, he actually jumped…..?”

"I really hope he didn't break anything"

"Food now?"

And that is one story about Max, the dog who trusted us even though we let him fall when he jumped out of a fucking window.

….Or: that is one story about Max, the dog who jumped out of a fucking window even though the house was NOT on fire.

-Jillers

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