My name is Max. It's also been common to call me Fido. I had a wonderful life. Truly I did.
I always meant to write my story and it may be late, but I only just figured out how to get online up here...Heaven frowns on computer usage you know. I died in March of 2010. We'll get to that llater though, much later. I have many tales to tell. I managed to get through to the ripe old age of 11 years, 10 months. I hear that's pretty good in doggy years. The beginning of my story will show you that it's very impressive I lived that long. I was born in 1998, in the 909. I was born into the gang life, whatever that means. My mom was a gang dog, when she gave birth all of us were given to fellow gang members at a very early age. I was tied to a tree by a chain, and that was my first memory of life on my own. It may not sound harsh to be living outside in California but it gets really, really hot in Riverside and water was scarce. My owner thought it would be fun to keep it just an inch or 2 out of my reach all day. He wanted to toughen me up. He never named me. I was just dog, mangy dog, or some other names I don't want to remember. He would bring me inside sometimes, there he'd cage me for hours on end. I wasn't exactly having a great upbringing but I didn't know that...Yet. One day in taking me off the chain to go in, his friend came by and left the gate open. I had a split second to think...bam, I ran and ran and ran. I had no idea where I was going, why I was going or what I would do next. After a few hours of wandering the streets a nice looking van stopped and gave me a ride. I saw other dogs inside and thought this could be fun. We went to a place called the Riverside County Animal Shelter. Cool.
A place for homeless dogs, who knew?
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