We had to say goodbye to Max III today. For the past few weeks, he had been having difficulty getting up and down. His rear legs just didn’t seem to have enough strength to lift him. When we went to bed, he needed 4 or 5 running starts before he could get up the stairs.
4 days ago, he stopped eating. Since then, his breathing has been labored. Then this morning, he couldn’t get up at all. He seemed to be having panic attacks. His back legs had stopped functioning altogether.
Max was our third Golden Retriever. Max I came from a local rescue shelter and was already named Max when he came to live with us. Max II came to us from the Golden Retriever Rescue League; he also was named Max by his prior owners. When it came time to get another dog, we decided to adopt a puppy from a local breeder.
He was only about as big as a fist when he came home with us. He didn’t even have a nose yet. We had a very cold winter that year and Carolyn would take him outside snuggled inside her parka to protect him. He is registered with the American Kennel Club as Maximillion Aloysius Xavier de la Pointe, the 3rd. Max III for short.
That first summer, we took him with us to Nova Scotia on the ferry from Bar Harbor. We stayed in an old farmhouse surrounded by high grass. He loved it there and spent the day exploring all the new sights and smells. Sometimes, all we could see of him was his tall Golden Retriever tail cutting a swathe through the fields around us. He even helped us carry wood for the fireplace home in his mouth.
He was a good dog, gentle and kind with other dogs and tolerant of cats, rabbits and other wildlife. Oh, he would chase the cat or a bunny around the yard, but his heart wasn’t really in it. It was just a game of hide and seek for him and the other animals seemed to understand that and played along.
He understood pretty quickly that our island was his home and he seldom strayed away from it. His favorite thing to do was to wade in the lake, looking for fish. Back and forth, back and forth he would go, patiently waiting for some silly fish to come close enough, but none ever did. He didn’t seem to mind.
We made a cut in the screen door leading out to the deck so he could come and go as he wished when the weather was nice. On hot summer nights, he would go outside and sleep on the deck, catching any random breeze that might stir.
The grandkids are just getting to the age where they are not afraid of animals. Max always slept on the floor at the end of Lillian’s bed when she was here. It made her feel safe that he was on guard. It comforted her to hear him breathing in the night.
As we lifted him into the car to go the vet this morning, we knew he wasn’t coming home. The vet was kind and listed all the tests and medications that might give him some comfort and extend his life for a week or maybe a month. She mentioned that the problem seemed to be in his brain – probably a stroke.
We watched him try to drag himself up off the floor and panic when he couldn’t. We knew what our answer would be. Neither one of us wants to be kept alive by heroic measures when our time comes and we didn’t want to see him continue to flounder about with no control over his body.
We told the vet that we wanted him put to sleep. She gave him a strong sedative and let us spend some time with him alone. He began to quiet down as the sedative took effect. Carolyn lay with him for a while and said her goodbyes.
Then I lay next to him and scratched his ears the way he always liked me to. He turned to look at me. Something in his eyes seemed to be telling me he understood what was happening to him and was at peace with it. Then he licked me before putting his head on his paws for the final time. I think he was saying goodbye.
He was a very good dog.
Waiting to pick up my granddaughter after school last week, I noticed all the other 1st graders pouring out of the building with Indian headresses made from colored paper just like the ones I made when I was in the first grade way last century. Some had what looked like a Pilgrim hat or a woman’s head scarf made from colored paper instead.
I was 50 years old before I read Howard Zinn’s book, 
I mention this because I think there is nothing wrong with telling our children the truth about history. In fact, doing so could actually do some good. It might help them grow up without so many negative stereotypes about people with a different genetic heritage. Maybe they could even learn to cooperate so we could all put our heads together to solve the truly enormous challenges facing our planet.
The recipe worked. Our new crop of bearded boys of summer went out and won their division, then won the playoffs and finished by winning the 2013 World Series. Jubilation was the order of the day. Best of all, the sense that ownership was often distracted by other business interests was now dispelled. Perhaps Valentine was just an aberration and these guys really did know how to run a ball club?
But once the season started, Sizemore looked more like the broken down former player he really was. His fielding was atrocious and he turned ice cold at the plate. He was gone by the end of May and our hopes turned to management’s Plan B, Jackie Bradley, Jr.
In his place they acquired A.J. Pierzynski, a veteran catcher who is known through out baseball as one of the worst clubhouse guys ever. As the Red Sox struggled through losing streak after losing streak early in the year, responsibility for their poor performance began to focus on A.J. By the end of June, he was unceremoniously dumped from the team. After his departure, word leaked from the locker room that he was strongly disliked by the other players. Which begs the question, if management is so concerned with clubhouse chemistry, why on Earth did they bring in Pierzynski in the first place?
The Red Sox are very high on Xander Bogaerts, a 21 year old being touted as the starting shortstop of the future. He began the year well, but when third baseman Will Middlebrooks went down with an injury – again – Bogaerts was moved to third. The Sox went out and got Steven Drew to play shortstop, the very same player they refused to sign before the start of the season.
By mid season, the Red Sox had only two bright spots on the team – Jon Lester, our #1 starting pitcher and John Lackey, our #2 hurler. Lester is a fan darling. He played for Boston his entire career, overcoming cancer along the way. Lackey was out for all of 2012 after Tommy John surgery but battled back to give the Red Sox quality start after quality start.
By the time Closing Day came around (not soon enough for most of us) the 2014 team ended the season with a record of 71 wins and 91 losses, its worst performance in recent memory. Team owners promise the fans that they have “a lot of money to spend” during the off season and that we shouldn’t worry; 2015 will be better. A lot better, in fact. But should we believe them?
The Henry Group wants to build a team for the price of a Toyota Corolla but sell it to the fans as if it’s a Ferrari. Good luck having that as the basis of your business plan. What these steely eyed, “baseball is just another business” types fail to understand is that the fans want to identify with the players on the field. We loved having Carl Yastrzemski patrol left field for 15 season. We love players like Jon Lester, Dustin Pedroia and Jason Varitek who play their entire careers in a Red Sox uniform. We want to be able to recognize a batter’s face rather than having to plug his uniform number into Google to find out his name.
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Between the two lies Shelter Island, a bucolic haven reached by a short ferry ride from Greenport. We stayed in an historic hotel called the Pridwin. Our room was tiny and the attached bath was miniscule. The dining room featured a pricey menu but so-so service. I think it’s fair to say we were underwhelmed by our accommodations.
Bristol, Rhode Island is one of the most picturesque communities in a state full of interesting cities and towns. It hosts the nation’s oldest and largest 4th of July parade and is festooned with flags, bunting and banners throughout the year.
Rhode Trips 