MAXWELL PORTER

At just after 9 a.m. yesterday morning, Maxwell Porter  passed away. At that moment he was in my arms with his face in mine. I was talking to him softly, and he could feel the way i cared for and lovednhim. He had been under sedation dropping off to unconsciousness for 15 minutes. We spent that entire time talking about the fun that he had had in the last year. Nothing negative. All about his rope, his Kong, his afghan, his comfy kennel, his exciting walks. Prior to going to the veterinary office I took him for breakfast to Hardees and he could not believe he was getting his very own sausage egg and cheese biscuit. The story is something that probably started long before I ever knew him and it was that he was uncontrollably aggressive with outside people. He attacked his fifth or sixth person in the campground on Thursday night. Once again, no serious injury but it could have been a little 5 year old girl. In fact, that day was coming as surely as any other event. He just could not be controlled when he was surprised or terrorially threatened  or approached and as his loyalties to me increased, his behavior to outsiders only became worse.  He was an extremely dangerous animal, about which I could do nothing to change that attitude.  He went to his "red zone" in a 10th of a second. Infuriated.  and it was just becoming  more fierce and pronounced.  It was a matter of time, he would push out the door, be forgotten for just a second, be on a lead but surprise me and pull me off balance, and was on the verge of  seriously maiming someone before I could intervene. The training that we were going through was great for obedience but his need for protection and aggression, I do not believe, could have been trained out of him within a time frame to keep someone from being seriously hurt. Possibly even killed or maimed. And possibly even a small child. I thought of the attack Thursday night, in the pitch black camping area, and saw clearly that it could have been a little 5 year old child , and I knew action had to be taken, for the overall good. Max was a peach. With his office couch, his afghan. His patience with the little dogs, his curling up beside me, his humility,  his bravery and honor code. Having a dying dog or an older sick.dog, "put down" is the ordinary cycle of life. Choosing, at my whim, whether a life will continue or not, with me personally being the arbiter of the greater good, was an issue in Vietnam,  46 years ago, March 1969. It is a horrible place to be. But the better if it was the time we spent on the floor, as he gave way, reluctantly,  to swdation, and we talked...even about his Hardees biquut. And in that time, as his.spirit left him, he knew love.