Remembering Max

I was less than a mile from home, running west in a light, late-afternoon drizzle toward Wilshire Park when I turned south onto Northeast 41st Avenue at Skidmore Street.

All of a sudden, I realized two things: I hadn't been on that particular block in two-plus years -- and the last time I was, I was doing an early-morning walk with Max, my big buddy.

After hurting my Achilles tendon during the 2006 Hood to Coast Relay, I'd seen a physical therapist who prescribed a set of exercises and regular neighborhood walks -- no running! -- to get me back in shape again. So, for a time I was rising early to head up the hill in the Beaumont-Wilshire neighborhood with Max to get the exercise I'd normally get from running.

I remember a certain two-story house on the east side of the street because it was so unusual in its architecture. (Sorry, I don't know enough styles to offer any details.) When I started to run past it Tuesday afternoon, the memories just washed over me.

Max wasn't nearly as lame then as he was during his last year of life. During that fall and ensuing winter when I was recuperating, he would walk with me for up to 45 minutes with no problem, tail wagging and enjoying the fresh morning air.

We have two cats and they can be finicky as hell. With Max, my Black Lab/Great Dane mix, there was never a question of loyalty or love. I miss the big galoot.