Max
We have this dog. His name is Max. I think it is short for Maxwell. My wife Linda and my dear departed daughter, Lisa, adopted Max from a Cocker Spaniel rescue agency. Never, ever pick out the smallest, paranoid dog in the corner of the room. That dog might be Max. Max is my cross to bear, my nemesis. I am sure Lisa is laughing from heaven. Max is Linda's dog and I am Max's private walker. Max has curious walking habits. He only walks in 90 degree angles. Heaven forbid he ever cross over the corner to get to the sidewalk. Only 90 degree angles. Max only poops on the yellow center line of the road. Of course, after taking a 90 degree route to get there. The world that Max walks in is not part of ours. He hears planes far out of sight, and refuses to walk. He hears traffic from Alt 19 (about a mile away) and refuses to walk. He hears Ospreys screaching in the distance, he stops..refuses to walk. Max has excellent hearing. Walking with Max is a chore