Max was a good dog, a sheepdog through and through. The perfect companion, loyal and true. When Dad wasn’t around, Max joined me inside on the couch. And we rolled on the grass, laughing with joy. A lick to the face brought an endearing, warm smile. A boy and his dog, the inseparable team. I still remember that cold, steady look on his face. Max knew he was going to die. The creeping dark passenger cut short his time. Though he was suffering, it was I who couldn’t stand the pain. He tried to comfort me in a way only dogs know how. That look, still etched in my mind, some thirty years later. The day he left this Earth, I couldn’t go to school. A thousand tears for Max, for he was the first friend I had to say goodbye.