Max's Story

by W. Bruce Cameron

  “That’s it; that’s perfect!” Stella exclaimed happily, peering at CJ’s paper. “You got his eyes just right. Anybody would want to adopt that little thing! Okay, give it to me. I’ll make a bunch of posters. We’ll put them up everywhere. We’ll find Max a home!”

  She petted me and jumped up, said good-bye to CJ, and dashed off in her silver sandals.

  CJ stayed on the grass, looking out over the lawn where the dogs were running and wrestling, fetching balls, sleeping, scratching, being petted, and running back to do it all over again.

  “See, Jillian’s wrong. People do have dogs in New York,” she murmured, ruffling the fur along my spine until I let out a little groan of happiness. “Oh, Max.”

  I looked up at her alertly and cocked my head, hearing the sadness in her voice. Then I turned and nudged her hand, which had paused in its scratching. I knew it made her happy to pet me. It made me happy, too. It was silly how often I had to remind her of that fact.

  “My dog back home, Molly…” CJ said to me, and her voice trailed off. She sighed. “I needed Molly so much, Max. I was younger when I got her, and stuff at home … it wasn’t so great. But you—it’s different with you. You need me. I just wish Jillian could see that!”

  The scratching didn’t seem to be doing its job of making CJ happy, because she picked me up all of a sudden and buried her face in my fur. I licked her cheeks and wagged, and she sighed and lowered me to her lap.

  I licked at her fingers. But I was getting restless. There were more dogs out there, and I hadn’t taught them all to respect me yet.

  “Okay, go on, go play,” CJ said, just a little shakily.

  I licked her hand one last time, and then a dog caught my eye, a Great Dane who reminded me of Duke. I charged off to see what kind of game he might be interested in.

  He had a rope toy in his mouth. I grabbed one end and pulled as hard as I could, growling fiercely. He shook his head so that I flopped over onto my side in the grass, but I never let go of the rope. He towed me all over the lawn.

  After my game of pull-the-rope with my Great Dane friend, I went on to play tag with a shih tzu who was about my size. Then I got right into the middle of a game of it’s-my-stick-no-it’s-mine with a golden retriever whose long fur rippled as she ran and a brown mutt with one white eye. In between playing I ran back to CJ, who petted and praised me and told me I was a good boy.

  Of course I am. I’m Max.

  Each time I checked on CJ, she was scratching on the paper with her sticks. She’d glance up at the scene in front of her, her eyes bright with interest, and then look back at her paper, making quick strokes with her pencil, sometimes smudging them with her thumb. She’d show me when I came panting up.

  “Look, Max,” she’d say. “That’s you with that golden.” For some reason she held a piece of paper in front of my face. “Silly dog, you hardly let her have a turn with that stick. And look at this—it’s the boy over there throwing a Frisbee for his Lab. Doesn’t that look like fun? But you’re not going to be able to catch a Frisbee, Max, no, you’re not.”

  “Hey, that’s really cool,” said a voice behind us.

  I looked up and there was a boy a few years older than CJ, with a black Lab sitting and panting by his side.

  “Are you doing sketches of the dogs? Can I buy one of Alice?” he asked, rubbing his dog’s ears.

  I pranced up to Alice, ready to do more wrestling or chasing, but she merely lay down and looked at me. I put a paw on her head. She sighed and didn’t move.

  “Oh,” CJ said. Her face turned warm and pink. “I wasn’t—I was just—I mean, I’m not selling them.”

  The boy looked disappointed. I was disappointed, too. This black Lab was not any fun at all.

  “But you can have it,” CJ said quickly. “If you really want it. Do you?” She ripped a page out of the sketchbook and offered it to the boy. He brightened up.

  “Really? I can have it? Thanks, that’s amazing!” I heard him say as I wandered off to find another dog who was ready to have more fun.

  Not long after that, CJ clipped my leash back on my collar. On our way out of the park, she stopped at a cart that smelled so wonderful I started to drool and bought a hot dog in a bun and a bottle of water. She sat on a bench and lifted me up to share the delicious, salty meat. I did not care for the bun smeared with yellow and green stuff that smelled sharp enough to make my eyes water, so she ate that herself. Then she poured some of the water in her hand for me to lap up.

  “I didn’t know there was a place like this in the city, Max,” she said after she swallowed. “People are … kind of relaxed here. They’re not in such a hurry. It’s … you know what? It’s fun. Or it would be if I wasn’t worried about you.”

  I was full from the hot dog and tired out after all of my hard work at the dog park, so I crawled into CJ’s lap and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up even when she tucked me into her backpack for a return trip on the subway. When I opened my eyes at last, we were riding up in the elevator to Jillian’s apartment. It felt good to be home with my girl.

  12

  I began to get used to the idea that CJ would go away from me in the mornings. I didn’t like it, but there seemed to be nothing I could do to stop her.

  Sometimes Jillian went away, too, and sometimes she stayed in the apartment and stared at her plastic box and made tapping noises on the flat tray. It didn’t matter much whether she was there or not, though, since she never paid any attention to me.

  I wasn’t much interested in her, either. I did wish I could have some more fun with that coat of hers, the one that had such a fascinating collar. But the closet door always stayed shut and I couldn’t get it to open, no matter how much I pawed at it. Sneakers never came to help.

  Most of the time Sneakers and I ignored each other. But occasionally, when both CJ and Jillian were gone and I was very bored, I’d find her where she was sleeping and curl up next to her, so that I could feel the warmth of her soft gray body alongside mine.

  Now and then she would make that rumbly sound deep inside. I had learned that it wasn’t a growl, although I still had no idea what it meant. But I could feel it vibrating against my skin, and it was soothing.

  Two days after CJ and I had gone to the big park, I woke up from a nap with Sneakers to discover that CJ had come home without my noticing! She was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside us, her sketch pad in her hand, scratching the paper furiously with her stick.

  I jumped up, barking with excitement, and hurtled into her lap. Sneakers got to her feet, too, shook herself so that her collar jangled, gave me a disdainful look, and walked away to sit with her back to us and her tail wrapped tightly around her feet. She peeked back over her shoulder to see if we had noticed that she was annoyed with us.

  “Oh, Max, I was almost finished!” CJ said. She hugged me close to her face as I happily licked her cheeks. “I wanted another picture of you. To keep. For later…” She sighed and put me down into her lap. I loved it when she put one hand on either side of my head and then ran them both down my body all the way to my rump. “You’re not much of a model, you know? If Stella’s not around to feed you treats, I have to catch you sleeping! Come on, let’s go out for a walk.”

  She got my leash and I gave Sneakers a triumphant look. She didn’t learn her lesson, though, since she tried to sneak out with us. CJ had to sweep the door shut right in her face. “Sorry, Sneakers!” she called, and we went out into the neighborhood.

  Stella was waiting for us outside, wearing glittery pink flip-flops, and she and CJ walked up and down block after block. I sniffed out which other dogs had been there before me and how long ago they’d passed by. I recognized Honey on a bush and Baxter on a fire hydrant and Duke so high up on a wall that I couldn’t cover his mark with my own no matter how hard I tried. How annoying!

  While I was busy, Stella and CJ used tape and staples to put pieces of paper up on every surface they could—walls, poles, doors.

  Some p
eople stopped to look at the papers. Lots of them said my name. “Max?” they asked. “Max needs a home?”

  A few of them played Gentle, Max with me. It was amazing how many people knew that game. Some of them took a paper or two with them.

  “I’ll ask around,” they’d say.

  Or, “I’ll put one up at my office.”

  Or, “Good luck. Hope you find something for him.”

  I got a little impatient since we had to stop so often to put up papers and talk to people. I wanted to keep walking, to explore more and more of the city, to find new things to smell and maybe new dogs to boss around.

  CJ seemed pleased, though. “People are so nice,” she said to Stella. “I didn’t think they’d be so nice.”

  “It’s going to work,” Stella said firmly. “I know it will!”

  CJ sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

  Then the three of us went back home and played chase-the-paper-balls with Sneakers in the hallway.

  The next morning, CJ took me out to pee as she usually did. But after we went back to the apartment, she did something odd. She crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up.

  I was surprised. She was normally running around putting her sketchbook and pencils into her backpack and gobbling down breakfast at this time of the day. Had she forgotten what she was supposed to do?

  It looked like it was my job to remind her. I put my paws up as high as I could reach on the bed and barked at her.

  “Max, shush!” she mumbled, putting a hand down to pet me. “It’s Saturday. I want to sleep late.”

  She didn’t understand. I barked some more.

  “Max, quiet!” She rolled over, reached both hands down over the edge of the bed, and picked me up. “You’ll wake up Jillian.”

  “Too late,” said a voice from the doorway to CJ’s room. Jillian, wearing a bathrobe, gave me an irritated look. “How is it going with…” She hesitated a little. “You know. Finding somewhere for it to go. I saw all your posters.”

  CJ sat up in bed. “I don’t know yet,” she answered, not looking at Jillian.

  “Oh. Well.” Jillian turned and walked into the kitchen. I smelled the dark, bitter scent of the drink people called coffee.

  “Oh, Max.” CJ sighed, and she flopped back down on her pillow. I burrowed my nose into her neck and licked her enthusiastically. I still didn’t understand why she wasn’t getting up, but if she wanted to lie in bed and play with me, that was all right, too. I tugged at a strand of her hair, and when she pushed me away, I wrestled with her hand until she groaned and giggled at the same time.

  “Okay, okay, Max, I’m up!” she said, and got out of bed. “I guess I have to get ready to walk all the other dogs anyway.”

  Before long CJ was kneeling on the floor to snap the leash onto my collar. “Wow, Max, you’ve been growing!” she said, and fiddled with the collar so that it was a bit looser around my neck. It felt better, and I shook my head energetically, hearing the tag jangle.

  “That’s a little loose,” CJ said, frowning. “Well, you’ll grow into it, I guess. Okay, okay, let’s go!” In half a minute she and I were out the door. “No, Sneakers, sorry!” she said, shutting the door in the cat’s face.

  This time we didn’t just head straight outside. Instead, CJ took me down to the floor below and knocked on a door. When it opened, Duke was on the other side waiting for us, whining a little with happiness.

  He put his giant nose down to mine and licked my face with enough force that I nearly tumbled over onto my side. I jumped back up and barked at him to let him know that I was still in charge. Then I licked his nose back.

  Duke’s owner laughed. “He’s calmed down a little, hasn’t he?” she asked CJ.

  “Just a little,” CJ agreed, and took Duke’s leash in her hand.

  “I saw all your posters,” Duke’s owner said as I tugged on my own leash, ready to get outside. “Do you have an extra one? I’ll put it up at work.”

  CJ tugged a folded square of paper out of her pocket. “Thanks,” she said, and finally she paid attention to what I was trying to tell her, that it was time to go. We headed downstairs and out into the street.

  We stopped at two other apartment buildings to pick up Honey and Jay, and then I took my position where I belonged, at the head of the pack, leading us all to the dog park. We paused at a corner, waiting on the curb as cars whizzed back and forth. I was quivering a little with impatience, ready to run, to wrestle, to find a ball and defend it from any other dog who wanted to get his teeth into it.

  There were feet on all sides—feet in boots, feet in sandals, some in sneakers like CJ’s, some in high heels like Jillian’s. When all the feet started to move off the curb, I moved with them, tugging CJ into the street. Why wait?

  CJ, close on my heels with all the other dogs, laughed a little. “So that’s how you do it!” she said. “You’re showing me how to live in New York, Max!”

  Her voice made my tail wag harder, but I didn’t slow down or turn around. We were almost there!

  The dog park near the apartment wasn’t as big as the park a few days ago, where we had met Stella. And there weren’t as many dogs. But that was good in a way, because it meant I didn’t have to spend as much time teaching other dogs to respect me. It didn’t take them long to learn that I was Max. Nobody tried to take my ball away (even if all I could do was gnaw on it). Everyone figured out that I was supposed to win when we wrestled.

  Duke stayed close behind me, and lots of the other owners laughed to see us together. “Are those both yours?” some of them asked CJ.

  “No, I’m just walking Duke. He’s the Great Dane. And Max—the little one—he needs a home,” CJ would say back. “Soon. By Tuesday. It’s really important. Could you ask around? Can you put a poster up, maybe?”

  She handed out her papers and stuck a few on the trees with brightly colored little tacks. It was odd how humans—even CJ—seemed to like papers so much, even more than balls or sticks. But that’s just the way they are. Maybe one day they’ll learn more about how to have fun.

  After a while I got tired of teaching the other dogs how to behave and returned to CJ, who was sitting on a bench with a sketch pad on her knee. She put her pencil and paper down to pick me up and put me on her lap. It felt good to be high up, eye to eye with the other dogs for once, keeping watch over everything going on. Duke sat beside us and put his head on the bench. He knew not to lay it in CJ’s lap while I was there.

  Jay finished running in his last big circle and came panting to CJ’s side. She called to Honey, who was resting beneath another bench, and then clipped all of our leashes on. I jumped up to lead us back home, and we were walking along one of the paths in the park when I smelled something that I recognized.

  Dogs. People who seemed familiar. Antiseptic soap and dog food and chilly cement. The smell reminded me of the shelter, and I left my place at the head of my pack to move a little closer to CJ.

  CJ slowed down and came to a stop as well, holding all four leashes.

  Across a little lawn, I could see pens with puppies and older dogs in them. I could see people stopping to look. Children were begging to pet the dogs. Grown-ups were admiring the furry little things. A tall woman with curly brown hair walked back and forth, talking, picking up puppies to put them into waiting hands, handing out papers.

  Her smell drifted to me faintly. It was Gail.

  CJ sighed. She pulled at our leashes and took us down a different path, away from the pens and the dogs and Gail. I wasn’t quite sure why, but I was glad she did so. I wasn’t nobody’s dog anymore. I lived with CJ now, and that was how things should be.

  “Three more days,” CJ muttered under her breath as we walked.

  We returned Honey and Jay to their apartments and then CJ and Duke and I headed back to Jillian’s. My legs were getting a little tired from pushing myself to stay in front of the big dogs, and I was starting to think that it would be nice to curl up on CJ’s quilt for a rest.


  As we came closer to the apartment building, I heard something that made my ears perk up. Barking. Angry, ferocious barking. It got louder the closer we approached.

  CJ went tense. Even Duke looked interested.

  The barking was coming from an alley that ran alongside the apartment building. I strained at the leash, pulling CJ toward the source of all that noise.

  “Max, no. We better not,” she said.

  I was starting to understand that word, “no.” I didn’t like it. I pulled harder.

  “Max!” CJ said sternly. Duke looked at her to see if he was in trouble.

  Then we heard a new noise—a cat’s yowl. It was furious and frightened all at once, and it rose from a low grumble to a high shriek.

  CJ gasped. I dragged her two more steps forward. Now I could see around the corner of the alley.

  I could see Baxter.

  He was halfway down the alley with his rump toward us. Crouched in front of him was a gray cat with a smell I knew very well.

  “Sneakers!” CJ shouted.

  13

  Sneakers was crouched low to the ground with her ears flat against her head and her mouth open as wide as it could go, showing all of her sharp white teeth. She was wagging her tail and her fur bristled all over so that she’d look as big as possible to Baxter.

  One slim gray paw shot out and whacked Baxter right on the nose. I remembered how sharp those claws were! And now I realized that, when Sneakers had smacked me in the face a few days ago, it had just been a warning, not really meant to hurt. When she was dealing with Baxter, however, she had other intentions.

  Baxter was so startled that a bark cut off halfway through, and he jumped back a little. Then he crouched low and growled, a long, low, deadly threat.

  I could smell Sneakers’s fear, even over the rage and aggression that were wafting off Baxter. He was furious that such a little scrap of an animal got to exist near his home, and he was going to do something about it.