In Memory of Max
2026-11-06
On Saturday, October 31st, 2026, Halloween, we buried our dog Max next to the big tree in the west-facing pasture we call "London Proper," a peaceful place with a beautiful view of the sunset.
Max has been in the family for just over a decade. We got him just before the Forth of July in 2016, when our son was four, and our daughter was two. He moved with us from our house in Dells to the acreage we live on today. He passed away from an unknown illness on the 29th of October, 2026.
Max was named after the lead character in the Secret Life of Pets by my son, who loved that movie at the time. Of course, being the silly weirdos we were, we decided that "Max" should be short for something, so his full name became Maxtavius Dogmeat Davidson. "Maxtavius" was something we made up. "Dogmeat" was a reference to the video game Fallout 3, which itself was referencing the classic post-apocalyptic movie A Boy and His Dog. I guess we just liked layers.
Max was a mutt, which in my opinion, is a great thing. We were told he was a terrier mix, which was true, but it was quite a mix. We did a genetic panel and discovered he was a bit of everything, including terrier, chihuahua, miniature pinscher, springer spaniel, and more. He was a smaller dog, colored like a pinscher, black on the top with a brown face, tummy, and legs. He was often confused for a puppy even into in his later years.
I've lost a few pets in my life, but this one hit different. This one was hard. I think it's in part because Max grew up along side the kids, and in part because he was such a constance presence in our lives. When we'd return home and drive up the driveway, he'd bound across the lawn and into the grove, as if suddenly in hot pursuit of some prey. Then he'd come plodding back, tail wagging, the mighty hunter clearly exhausted from yet another rigorous day of protecting us from threats. A cute bit of theatre.
Max was an outside dog, and with us any time we were out. He was there when we did lawn work. He was there when we plowed snow. He was there when we tended to the horses. He was there when we built he pergola, dug out the pond, cleaned up the thistles, built the shelter, and rebuilt the chicken coop. Year after year, he supervised as I put up and then took down the snow fence. He hung out in the pouring rain as we dug trenches in the driveway to redirect the relentless flow of water.
He'd steal my chair while I flipped burgers on the grill. He'd snuggle up as we sat in the swing and watched the sun set. He'd sleep at your feet as we sat around the fire chatting into the night. Sometimes when I was under a car working on something, he'd crawl under and put his head on my chest, just trying to be close. It can still be a little surprising to come out of the shop, and he's not there.
I pulled together a small gallery of photos of Max for this. As I went through photos it struck me how many he managed to photobomb. Of course, he wasn't trying to photobomb, but he was just always there, spending time with us whether we even recognized it or not.
On October 28th, 2016, we put the final touches on the doghouse that would become Max's house. We didn't just build a doghouse, we overbuilt it. We framed it like a real home, with real insulation, a securely mounted heat lamp, a heated bed, and a flappy door. We wanted Max to be comfortable and safe in the winter. (And of course, we would bring him indoors when the temperature got dangerously low.)
Almost exactly 10 years later, my daughter and I built him a box to rest in. As we built it, we talked about what it meant to make it. This was one of our final acts of love--to give Max a new place to rest, comfortable and safe. We laid him in the box and wrote our parting messages in sharpy on the outside. Then that dreary afternoon, we committed him to the earth.
I realize that to some it may seem weird to share all this. At some level, I recognize the futility of memorializing. But as a human with a human heart, I feel compelled. Even though Max is gone, he lives on in our memories and in the many ways he touched our lives. Though this may only have meaning for a small handful of people in the entire world, I just want it noted on the record. I want it written down so whoever might stumble upon this can can read and understand a small, but important thing:
Max was here, and he was a good dog.
Bob Davidson | 2026 | RSS