Where Max Was From
At his first home, his puppy home, they called him “Head”. This most literal moniker was not as unusual as it sounds given the size of this puppy’s head (large) in comparison to his body (smaller). Neither was it unique—if you happen to be a bulldog puppy which indeed “Head” did happen to be. His box-shaped head sat on his white shoulders and his smooshed-in nose graced the middle of his face. White fur, short and soft, wrinkled up in folds on his body, blanketing him all over save for one brown rosebud ear and one distinctively peanut-shaped spot on his back. Hailing from Arkansas, “Head” happened to be a southern born puppy. Given his native stomping grounds, or shall we say pawing grounds, one might expect “Head” to have exuded a certain proper gentility, but from the start, “Head” tended more toward a redneck rusticity—a loopy, ungainly one at that. This puppy was no Rhett Butler.
So, when “Head” started his new life, leaving Razorback Country and its bbq behind, he did not find himself traveling first class in a diamond encrusted kennel to the palm lined streets of Rodeo Drive. He did not even travel in a kennel. “Head” did not even head toward Beverly Hills. No, this adventurous bulldog puppy found himself quite at home tucked gently in a black gym duffel bag stowed under an airplane seat—coach class—headed for inland Orange County. He didn’t sweat it as he traded Hogville for Smogville. Besides, the towel underneath him delicately cushioned his tiny puppy body and his larger puppy head, helping him sleep through the flight. And those two Big People, his adoptive parents, cooed over him, and fussed over him, and loved him from that point forward…unconditionally and completely…enough so to appreciate and reference his southern roots with a new and aptly chosen name: Maximus “Bubba”. Welcome home to the OC, Max.