We all know that dogs are considered man’s or in my case, a woman’s best friend. They are considered to be loyal, always wanting to please their masters…yada, yada, yada is my response. My case against them being our “best friend” but rather our “masters” is a personal one involving my 7 year old standard poodle, Maxwell House. Yes, I love coffee, hence the name…now let’s move on. When we went to look at Max and his litter mates, we were told to sit down, observe and let the puppy “choose” us. As dense as I was, I didn’t realize that right out of the gate, the dog was calling the shots. Maxwell picked us, even though I had preferred his brother Scamp when I had viewed the puppies online. On the 3 hour trip home, we stopped when he whimpered, stopped for him to potty, which he refused to do and offered the treats we had been sent home with. Upon reaching our home, I had the crate, the baby gate and a plan. Max had one of his own. He never, and I mean never went in the crate, he jumped the baby gate on the first night and found his way to our bed. “We must be firm, he has to learn who is the boss and what we say goes!” It sounded authoritative in my head, less so as it came out of my mouth and was total bull by the time I looked into the eyes of this little puppy who looked like a miniature version of a polar bear. Within a week, “my best” friend called the shots. I wasn’t the only victim of his scam. Family members one by one were giving the “forbidden” snacks to Maxwell just because he was so darn cute. Since Maxwell decided from day one that he would break the holy covenant that clearly states …All dogs love to ride in cars. which he doesn’t, it became a group effort to get him into the car for his vet or grooming appointments without him having a panic attack on the twenty minute ride there. Once we arrived at the said appointment, we were met with the sing-song ooohs and aahhs from the vet or groomer. “He is so sweet, what a loving dog, look how he wants to snuggle with you and so on and so forth the praise went.” Believe me if I had a friend that called all of the shots and I had to drag them out of the house for a cup of coffee, I am sure that I wouldn’t be sticking the label of “best” in front of their name. The bottom line is this…Max picked us, sold us a bill of goods that we bought hook line and sinker, stole our hearts, our bed and our couch and still makes me talk baby talk to him, even though he is almost 50 in dog years and that makes him one of my peers. Is he family? Why of course he is! Do I love him? The answer is YES…without a doubt! Is he my best friend? NO WAY! Right now as I write this he is shoving a ball into my lap, wanting me play fetch with him. A best friend would see that I was busy, BUT not Maxwell House…it’s all about him…Now what kind of friend is that I ask? Well, enough said on the subject, I’ve made my point and now I ask that you excuse me, my master is insistent that I am done at the computer and it’s time to play fetch!