Max

Max was a golden retriever who chose us at the shelter when he was three years old. He lived for tennis balls, belly rubs, and sleeping on my feet while I worked.

He was with me through a move across the country, a difficult year at work, and the birth of my daughter, who called him her first brother. He died peacefully at home on a Sunday morning, with us beside him.

I do not know who I am without him. But I know I was better because of him.