Where do you begin with a soul like Maxwell?
I promised myself that our home and hearts were full—two golden retrievers already filling our days with fur and joy. But when the breeder who had spent nearly fifty years bringing these gentle spirits into the world announced her retirement, something in me panicked. I put my name down for a boy—our very first male. And on December 27, 2018, Maxwell arrived.
From the moment we visited the litter, week after week, we knew he was special. Mr. Turquoise—the tiny puppy who fell asleep in my lap as though he had been waiting his whole life to find that exact spot—chose us as much as we chose him. At eight weeks old he came home, a ball of sunshine wrapped in golden fur.
He fit into our family as though he’d always been there. Mara, his grandmother, taught him manners with stoic grace; Chelsea adored him with wild, indulgent affection, happily offering her ears and tail for tugging and play. Maxwell gave them youth, gave us laughter, and gave the whole house a brightness only he could create.
He was so smart—lightning-fast with commands, house trained as if he had studied in advance. But more than that, Maxwell was good. Wonderfully, deeply, purely good. He was a friend to every person and every creature he met, his big fluffy tail always moving, always announcing his joy to the world. He coaxed me out of my own shell, introducing me—shy as I am—to strangers who simply wanted to greet the cheerful golden by my side.
He loved swimming, loved his walks, but most of all, he loved his sticks. From the time he was small, he proudly carried back branches bigger than his whole body, tail held high as if he had just discovered treasure. We joked that he was collecting kindling for the chiminea, but really, he was collecting memories—his simple pleasures becoming ours.
His time with us was far too short—6.5 years that went by in a blink—but they were rich, happy, love-filled years. Even through his long illness, Maxwell gave us everything he had. He loved us until the very end.
Letting him go was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Nothing prepares you for choosing dignity over more days, love over holding on. But in the quiet of our home, surrounded by the humans who adored him, Maxwell left this world wrapped in the same love he gave so freely.
We will miss you, sweet boy.
Your sunshine, your gentle heart, your ever-wagging tail—those gifts will stay with us always.
Thank you for choosing us. Thank you for teaching us how to love extraordinarily and without abandon.
