His name is Max.
We didn't go on a puppy-finding mission. Max came to us, and he turned our life and house upside down.
A couple of years ago, our grown daughter did the prodigal thing. She packed up her stuff and decided to strike out on her own - with her standard-sized poodle.
Two years later, she came back home to regroup. Worn out by life choices and life events. She moved in for about six months - with her pregnant standard-sized poodle.
The litter was born on our kitchen floor. All five labradoodles.
And the journey to sainthood took off.
One by one, the puppies sold . . . except for Max. But by the time he was the last puppy standing, we had fallen for the goofy looking, lovable puppy, and we didn't want to see him go.
So we bought him from our daughter - at a discount because we had helped her raise the litter and get them out the door.
Then, the daughter moved out again, and left the standard-sized poodle at home. The mother poodle is big, but Max is ENORMOUS.
And there is not a day that goes by that he doesn't have a Marley and Me moment. Sometimes, I react rather badly. But sometimes, I dig deep into the wellspring of grace and surprise myself.
In those moments, I realize that Max has become one of my many saint-makers. And I offer it up for the daughter who still dabbles in the prodigal way.
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