Amanda and Max Part 2

The morning after the dog bite was discovered, I asked my husband, John, what he thought we should do.

Of course I wanted us to be on the same page: Max had to go. It was a no-brainer. Instead, I got:

"This is your house, your rules. Give him away! Let him dig a hole under the fence and run away. And we won't go find him."

I literally did one of those quick shakes of my head - as if my brain might get jiggled enough into comprehending what he just said. Ten seconds later, I calmly said: "No, I want to listen to what you have to say."

"You decide!" he answered in a highly agitated tone.

While John and I couldn't reasonably sort it out, Amanda went to work. She mentioned her Uncle Rod, the dog lover/firefighter/EMT/Physical fitness buff, who may take Max.

I quizzed Amanda about Max getting enough exercise, food and companionship. Rod's situation sounded like Doggie Nirvana:

1. Max would get companionship in a laid-back brother/dog named Ben.

2. Access to a fenced-in backyard, a covered porch and indoors in the evening.

3. Rod will take Max "everywhere".

4. Rod's neighbor takes care of the dogs when Rod is at the fire station.

5. Rod has been looking for a running companion. Hello Max!

6. Ben is fed well ("too well" according to Amanda); Max would not starve for food or attention.

All three of us cried at the thought of Max not being a member of our household. It was a tough, but necessary decision. Now, I know the tears would only be selfish.

Max has a shot at the kind of life that I would wish for any dog. And to think. . .it all happened because he followed a 15-year old home from school one day.