In reading over some of these posts of lost dogs I am reminded (as if I could ever forget) the passing of the Shepherds in my life. Of the five who have preceded the one I have now three died quite tragic deaths. One maliciously killed by a psycho kid, one too young to know that a dump truck wasn’t something he had to run out and protect me from, and a third who had the agony of cancer.
But I want to tell you of the dog who did the most. They all did more than human kind expect but Max was beyond the beyond. A massive Shepherd he was the “Wilt Chamberlain” or “Shaqueil O’Neil” of GSDs. He stood a full 28″ at the shoulder and weighed 156 lbs in his prime. He could stand on his hind legs and put his paws on my shoulders and I stand 6′ myself.
His full name was Edel Maximillion Von Shoenheit which is German for “Noble Maximillion of Dazzling Beauty”. Von Shoenheit was my family’s breeder’s name. He was indeed, quite noble, but we jokingly called him “Maxibillion” because he was alot bigger than a million. Bigger in heart and soul too than even one so well acquainted
with the breed could imagine.
People who didn’t know him well often thought he was a bit of a klutz because he’d trip over his own feet. Little did they realize he did so because he was so intent on looking at me he failed to look where he was going. That attention went beyond the description of devotion. At the age of 2 we went West to visit my brothers in Washington and stayed in Yellowstone Park enroute. Dogs of course are relegated there to the outer campgrounds. We woke up to a grizzly tearing the tent apart to get in and presumably eat one or both of us. Max didn’t hesitate for a second but flew into the face of the bear and bit down as hard as he could on its nose. The bear reared up in pain and I darted out of the tent for safety with Max making quick in and out attacks at the bear’s flanks keeping it from running me down as I ran to the car. I got in and opened the side door and screamed for Max. He managed to break off the fight long enough to run into the car and we floored it out of the park doing about 60 mph at 3:00 am. He had several deep scratches from the bear’s claws and I brought him to the nearest emergency vet outside the park to have
his battle wounds bound and stitched.
That was perhaps the most amazing save of Max, but it was not to be the last, or even the second to last. When he was 6 I woke up one winter night in Vermont to find myself being dragged by the collar of my t-shirt across the floor. The chimney had caught fire and the house was full of smoke. Max was dragging me out though how he was going to open the outside door I can only guess. I got up and got my housemates up as well and we got out safely. We would all have likely died from smoke inhalation long before the fire spread enough to kill us if not for Max.
Max’s last save came just two weeks before he died at the age of 12. He was moving alot slower those days. “The bigger they are the faster they go” was becoming all too true. Our walks were now too much for him but he still liked to go for car rides and so I took him along that night to the driveup ATM to get some cash for the morning ahead. I should’ve known better I guess than to go to a driveup ATM close to midnight on a weekend but I had never had anybody attempt to rob me before either. As I put my card in the machine a young man stepped around from behind and put a pistol in my face and told me he was taking my money. “I guess you are” I sputtered and took out the maximum amount of $300 the account would allow. As the guy reached for the cash Max woke up from his snooze in the back and detecting the vibes from me realized there was a threat. He bit down on the guy’s gun hand as he reached for the cash. The crook dropped his gun and probably thinking the dog would be after him next ran off without the money. I called the police and they asked if I could identify the felon. They said they had an idea who the guy was having seen him before and even had a good idea where he prolly had run to. I told them to look for bite marks on his right hand. My description and the bite marks landed him in jail. The proof was on the bank’s video camera.
Then came that day two weeks later and I came home to find my hero “asleep” on the couch as he so often was. When he didn’t answer my call I knew my savior was gone before I even touched his cold body. I had lost dogs before and I have since but when Max died I was so overcome I couldn’t even speak for five days. I sat on his grave and sobbed until my girlfriend and my mother came out to bring me inside. Even now more than 11 years since his death I still have tears come to my eyes as I think back on that day. Only my father’s death surpassed the depth
my heart plunged to then.
And now comes the part where you may think I’m a looney, I don’t know for sure what happened that day, but I like to think it was Max who saved me one last time a couple of weeks after he died. It was a bright sunny day in early November in Vermont and with my heart still lying in the dust I decided to go for a long hike on one of the trails that Max had enjoyed going with me on. It’s a 9 mile hike each way up a ridgeline of the Green Mountains. Now if I had had my wits about me I’d have remembered that sudden snowstorms can sweep up on even the brightest days in Vermont in early November, but my mind was far from clear in my thinking. halfway back from the hike through snow started to fly and the flakes got bigger and bigger and came down faster and faster. Being along a ridge the mountain became a huge funnel for the snow and soon I was wading in snow up to my waist. I hadn’t dressed for such weather and hypothermia was setting in just as I lost the trail in the whiteout of the storm. I thought my chances were dim then I suddenly saw an indistinct grayish form just on the edge of my vision and realized it was a dog – a pointed eared dog. I thought well dogs have better ways of getting out then men do so I’d follow the dog. I’d struggle on and keep seeing the dog’s form just barely in my sight. I soon found evidence of the trail again and was able to get back down to my car. It was only then that I realized there had never been any paw prints in the snow. Did the snow fall so fast that it covered them? Maybe but I don’t think so. I think it was my hero come back one last time for one last save.
Still in my thoughts,
| Maxibillion |
| 25, Oct 1995 |
| Tom Zeller |