My angel

To this day, I can’t handle the sight of honey! It transports me back to the end of my beloved Max’s life. Max developed diabetes when he was twelve. When I heard the news, I was shocked, its never nice when you hear a loved one is sick!

Max was always there for me! He was my rock, my guardian angel. When I got sick at the age of fifteen, Max hung out with me, trying to make me feel better in his own little way. It was usually just the two of us in the sitting room. Every day, at around one o’clock, he would begin to get excited. He knew, in a way in which I don’t understand, that Jessica Fletcher was going to grace us with her presence in ‘Murder She Wrote.’ I would get my mom to get the pineapple ready. Max went nuts for some pineapple. We wondered what puzzle she was to solve for yet another murder in such a small village. I could never grasp how she could catch the culprit and give the victim justice each and every time. if she were to do that in my village, there would be no one left to kill!

Bang on one o’clock, I put on BBC 1, rings of pineapple waiting to be eaten, and ask Max ‘are you ready?’ He knew that that question meant the theme tune was about to start. He would cock his nose in the air, howling along to the melody. I’d have to rub his short, black and tan fur to signal that the music was over. That piano had nothing on Max’s howls! He had the most beautiful singing voice a dog could ever have, then again, I’m probably biased.

As we watched the show, me laying on the couch, Max curled up on my lap, his head resting on my chest, we ate the pineapple, him taking it off the fork, and enjoyed the episode. She knew so many people did Jessica, something I was envious of. But I had my best friend, one who could always predict would be there for me no matter what.

After we finished ‘Murder She Wrote,’ we then watched ‘Diagnosis Murder’, another theme tune he loved to sing along to. As Dick van Dyke appeared, I would rub Max’s soft, black-haired head, his eyes heavy with sleep. But all he had to do was here the first few bars to the song, when the show ended, to begin howling again. He was such a character!

As he grew older, me getting a bit better, that black and tan fur became greyer every day. When he turned twelve, on July 5^th 2010, I lit a candle and stuck it in a bun for him to eat at his leisure. He was very gentle when it came to food. When he was a puppy, I trained him to be that way. A few months later, I saw that he became out of sorts, so I brought him to the vet who asked for a urine sample. Through his pee, the vet diagnosed him with diabetes, and, put him on insulin twice a day with food.

Even though he was a gentle little thing, I took the initiative to put his muzzle of before I gave him what was my first solo shot. Firstly, I opened a new syringe and drew up however many units he was due and injected it into the scruff of his neck. He jumped when the needle pierced his skin, and didn’t like the sensation of the insulin enter his body. For over a year I did this, the units fluctuating with every vets visit.

Usually, when we went away, we would hand him over to dogsitters, Patty and Turlough, but, as he needed the insulin, I boarded him in the kennels the vet owned. He never stayed in the actual kennels, however. They always took him into the hospital where he could roam free and be a support to his fellow canines, all of whom were very sick. I made sure that I rang every day, most as he was sitting on the receptionists lap. I mean, who didn’t love that dog?

After a year of going through the motions, Max had his first seizure. Gary, the vet, had given me his personal mobile number for if Max ever ran into complications. When I rang, at eight o’clock at night one Saturday, he was at his daughters ballet recital, stepping out of the hall to take my call. He asked, ‘do you have any honey in the house?’ to which I answered, ‘yes!’ He then instructed me to give my angel some. As it happened, it stopped the seizure almost instantaneously. From then on we kept honey on standby all the time.

I brought Max to see Gary in person the next day, a pot of urine in my pocket. It was April 2011. Gary tested his pee, me holding Max in my arms, his muzzle on as, like most animals, he didn’t like going to the vets. Gary advised we up his insulin once more. ‘If he has another seizure, just give him honey and bring him back ASAP, we might have to put him on an anti-convulsant.’ I heeded Gary’s advice, arriving back to see him five days later. ‘The honey worked,’ I said between sobs, ‘but I can’t bear to see him like that!’ Gary handed us fourteen tablets, one for each day of the following fortnight.

At the start, the tablets worked. The seizures stopped, and Max was back doing his favourite things again. I knew in my heart of hearts that it wouldn’t last long, so I filled his days with everything he loved doing. I brought him over to the green to play ball, but he didn’t have the stamina he used to have, asking to go home after only five minutes. He started sleeping a lot, so I covered his bed in a nice, warm sleeping bag that was folded over four times for extra comfort. At night, I snuggled up with him under the duvet. I made sure he was settled before trying to go asleep, but sleep never came. I was constantly aware of his every move, predicting another seizure.

On the Thursday before he died, he walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks as he was making his way towards me for his dinner. He wasn’t having convulsions, but he was having another fit, I could tell by his body language. I quickly hopped off the chair, running for the honey. I put some in my hand, which he licked clean, before continuing on his journey to his bowl, a nice stew waiting for him. I knew this was it, it was the end of the dynamic duo!

Myself, my mom, and my brother brought him to the vet the following morning, all with snotty noses and puffy eyes. I was about to ask Gary if he would terminate my precious angels suffering. When it came to our turn, Gary refused to end it!  He wanted me, and my family, to have a few more days with him to say goodbye. I’m eternally grateful to Gary for those precious days, the honey being produced several times.

For his last two days on earth, Max had all of his favourites, without exception! He had steak, and chicken, pineapple, and as many of his favourite doggy treats as he wanted. He remained on my lap each night, looking up to me several times for natures sweet nectar.

Monday morning came, and, once again we brought him to see Gary, this time being the last. I held him in my arms, my mother and brother petting him as the last injection he would have to endure punctured his skin. His body went all floppy and became cold extremely quickly. Gary asked us if we would like him to be cremated, something we each said ‘yes’ to in unison. My heart ached as I left him there laying on the examination table, his spirit looking down on us.

I cried for days over my poor Max, unable to hear the theme tunes for either ‘Murder She Wrote,’ or ‘Diagnosis Murder,’ without waiting for him to begin to sing. Every time I have pineapple since, I always keep him in mind. The only thing, to this day, I can’t handle seeing without crying is honey. It was a blessing when he was alive, but it will always remind me of him looking up, his body stiff, his brain having a seizure.

When his ashes were ready, put nicely in a pine box with a space for a photograph in the front, I brought his remaining vials of insulin, the unopened syringes, his bed, and a few soft toys that wouldn’t fit in his memory box with me. I had ordered a scrub shirt for Gary, one with his name embroidered onto it, to say thanks for those last few days, days I will treasure forever. Gary met me in the waiting room and explained that the insulin was going to an old age pensioner, who walked two miles every three days for insulin for her own dog. The bed was going to be put to good use too, comforting many an animal who just came out of surgery. The soft toys were going to be put in the pens of those who were stripped from their families for medical treatment. He told me all this whilst I cried, Max giving back to the world one last time. I handed him the scrub top, and he gave me a hug, whispering, ‘he was a good dog!’ That was true! He was the best, one which I could never even try to replace!

I am who I am today because of Max being there when I was in the depths of hell, health wise. He was my bunny, my first true love! RIP my sweet!