Chapter

One
Originally he was Max, a German Shepherd. Desperate
and lonely. Acted once unwisely. Got a second chance. With
what does he change his fate?

One day, here he was, this dog, chewing on a rawhide

bone. He was a "bad dog", and just wasn't trained correctly
at first, and was abused. In Toledo, Ohio, on a farm, this dog
had a wonderful life, everything was good, everywhere, if
only he'd not been stressed out by his own self-chosen
duties.

"Maxie! Maxie! Come here, Maxie!" shouted Georgianna, a

little girl who was the young princess of the farmhouse. This
dog had been herding sheep and barking at cars all day. He
had been abused before and he was adopted and was
thinking about it. He was not at all in the mood. "Maxie,
here, boy! Stop chewing the bone and play with me!" So he
got up and played awhile. He played fetch and did games in
the playhouse for two hours.

The came her brother. "Hey, dog, ya wanna play?" said

the uncouth teenager. "Here, boy, let's play tug." He got a
tug toy and began to poke him with it. "Here, boy, ya like
that? Huh?" All his friends behind him were laughing as he
made the dog cower and growl. "What's wrong, you don't
wanna play?" The dog snarled. "Ooh, I'm so scared!" The dog
got up onto the boy and attacked him. He bit at his ragged
clothes. The boy, named Sam, fell to the ground, screamed,
and the dog ran, unsure of the noises he heard. His red
bandanna gave away where he was hiding in the bushes.
After an hour or so, this weird man in a thick, white suit
caught him with a metal leash and shoved him into a cage
inside a big white truck that said "SPCA Animal Control
Officers". He was usually a good dog. He'd had a good
reason to do what he did, but he still did something wrong.

On the way to the place, the place that family picked him
up from, he saw many other dogs. One was a rescued
fighting pit bull, one a mangy Chihuahua, and there were at
least ten border collies that were obviously overbred. There
was one, only one, other dog who had bitten someone and
was captured to be taken away. His name was Rebel, a
poodle of a brownish-black shade. He snarled, growled, and
scratched the pit bull behind him when he whined. The only
one who wasn't a dog was Bella, a Birman cat, fluffy and
white with blue-black points. She scratched and hissed at
anyone who got near her at her favorite windowsill. Her
owners had to move into a cat-free apartment. She was
purring until Rebel barked, and she scratched and made a
shreek "REEEEEER!" to assure her peace at naptime.

The animals reached the humane society kennels at the

SPCA. They would get their checkups within an hour of
arrival, and each pet was shy and aggressive. There was a
Pembroke Welsh Corgi at the right of Max's checkup table
who barked and whined. He had an injured paw, his fat,
stubby legs struggling to hold up his long, fat body of brown,
black and white, with his big, rounded ears, similar to Max's,
pricked straight up in the air. His small, long, white muzzle
with a big, black nose at the end, wiggled furiously trying to
avoid the worm medicine the veterinarian was trying to
administer. She smiled at the end and said, "All done! That
wasn't so bad, was it?" The Corgi smiled and wagged its
stumpy, docked tail. Max was sad at the memory of playing
with Georgianna through tunnels and down slides. He missed
it. All of it. But he'd be going through worse than he was
then.