Our Dog MAX

Our dog Max.
He changed from cute & cuddly to psychotic maniac within 7 years or so, nothing to do with having an untreated hernia for 5 of those seven years.
We bought him from the greenways estate in Spennymoor which is a nearby town which also has as much going for it as Newton Aycliffe.
He was a pedigree Dobermann, docked tail (it was legal then) black and tan, he was a lovely dog. We named him after his father Max snr.

We should have learned our lesson about Dobermans, we had previously owned a Doberman called 'Jett' who was 7 months old when we got him and very boisterous. He ended up being smashed to pieces on a main road after only owning him for less than 3 months I think. I won't name WHO, but someone in the family had a habit of letting him off the lead until he was just a pinprick in the distance before calling him back. Now if you do that with any dog you are asking for trouble, but doing it with a Doberman, in a street with people next to a main road, you better expect trouble.
I remember hearing my (family members tears) as they came through the side door of our house, I was sitting on our beloved brown couch. The driver that had hit 'Jett' brought him in in a bin liner very non chalontaley. All he said to me was "Where is the shed?" I think the bastard even smiled, and I was so taken back by the whole thing, I just got the keys to the shed and let him in, as if this was a normal occurrence.....(dog number three, "yes just pile him on top with the rest mate!")
Then the guy left and said goodbye, it was really bizarre.
I remember seeing the stream rise off of the bin liner he was wrapped in.
Later my dad warned me not to look underneath the bin liner or I wold never sleep again, I dont think the poor guy had much of a head left. "He's stiff as a board" my dad said.
It was a horrible time.....so that lead us to MAX in Spennymoor.
He was our rebound dog, and as it turned out 'Jett' was Max's UNCLE....yes, we checked the pedigree certificates together. I was dying to say to the Breeders (sellers) "Oh isn't it a coincidence, wev'e just killed his Uncle Jett" but I thought better of it.

So...MAX.

He was a cute puppy and he turned out to be a bit of a handful a few times.
He never liked policemen at all or very tall people, he would go for them from time to time and you had to make sure the bloody lead was wrapped around your hand a few times. He had about an inch left to pull on and the whole family had right arms like Mike Tyson's, but ONLY the right arm.

He was a lovely dog at first, he was really affectionate and always wanted cuddles. He eventually had his own seat on 'The brown couch' he usually had the corner piece of the couch but that soon changed to whatever seat he wanted, and I still recall his stale farts with affection.

He used to howl at the 'Eastenders' theme tune for reasons I'm still not sure about. As soon as we heard te tune kick in, it was a race for the remote control to mute / change channels or turn the TV off, in some cases I flew in the air slow mo with both feet off the ground twisting and turning my body as I used the remote to change the channel saying "NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

He, like every dog, loved food. He would scratch the oven door when there was a chicken inside and he loved Sunday dinners. He would stick his huge head under your arm pit as you ate hoping to grab anything you gave him. My dad would feed him little morsels as he went, it was hard to push the bastards head away. Yes, maybe we were too soft with him at times, but he did become part of the family rather than the pet.

He even stole a whole chicken from the oven one time. My mother had opened the oven and turned briefly around. When she looked again, Max was already in the garden with a whole chicken in his mouth. My mam went crazy but by that time he was halfway through the carcass, and he buried the rest, so the whole garden was a mess with the mud from his digging, and here we were, starving waiting for dinner. God love him, he was crazy.

It was always a concern for me whenever I let Max off the lead. We always did it in open areas after the death of our previous dog 'Jett' I think we learned our lesson. Max would always start good when you let him off, but as soon as he heard of smelt something or indeed saw something of interest or threat he would run after it / him /her. Whoever was walking Max was then sent into a frenzy of panic, with constant running / sprinting /shouting /screaming / crying and calling the bastards name. It was always the family who came back exhausted, never the dog.

TYKE was the name of the food we gave him,as well as canned dog food too. The name TYKE just came to me, it was one of those 'add-water and stir' numbers, horrible cardboard food. No wonder he stole chicken.

I even made Max a winter coat for the snow. I mde it from my old housecoat I had from when I was a boy but unfortunately the whole thing changed into a cape when the string broke around his belly area. It looked good when he ran, super Max, no chance of catching the fucker then, naturally he chewed the fucking cape into shreds.

He bit me once actually, normally you would put the dog down I think if that happens. He was barking and going crazy at a policeman who ws talking to my neighbour. Remember, Max doesn't like policemen or tall people, so he went nuts. As I dragged him in the living room by his collar, he bit all along my forearm like he was chewing a corn on the cob. I think I handled him too roughly actually when I was dragging him inside and I must have hurt him so he bit back and my god, I was scared.
But not for long, soon he was back to his cute ways of running away and stealing chicken.