Read Max's book

An example. Nine photos, seven answers, about ten minutes. Yours is made the same way.

• 

  Max
• 

  Max

  2016

  Max

• Max

  2016

  For Max, who makes it his idea every time.

  Max1

  Breed

  Kooikerhondje

  Born

  2016

  Lives with

  Bas, Femke, Noor, and Otto the cat

  Runs from

  The wheelie bin, every Thursday

  Comes running for

  The cheese drawer, and the word 'garden'

  Max2

• Morning

  Max3

  His Idea Entirely

  Quarter to seven, and Max doesn't bark. He stands next to the bed and breathes on whichever face is nearest, until that person gives up. Then he walks ahead to the kitchen, a few steps in front the whole way, as if the whole thing was his idea and everyone else is just following along.

  Max4

• The Cheese Drawer

  Not the fridge door. The drawer. Max can be asleep two rooms away, gone entirely, and still he is beside you before it is fully open. Nobody has explained how he knows the difference between a door and a drawer, but he does, every time. The word 'garden' works too, said in any sentence, about anything.

  Max5

  

  Max6

• Thursday Morning

  Every Thursday, for ten years, the wheelie bin goes out, and every Thursday Max treats it like a stranger. He gives it a wide berth, walks the long way round, and looks back over and over to check that it isn't following him. By Friday it is just the bin again. Then Thursday comes back around.

  Max7

  

  Max8

• 

  Max9

  Into the Canal

  Max walked into the canal, on the lead, mid-conversation with the neighbour. Just stepped off the edge as if there would be a floor. There wasn't. He came out, shook himself over both of them, and carried on walking as if it had been part of the route all along.

  Max10
• 

  Max11

  Summer evening, after the ball. His default face.

  Max12

• 

  Max13

  

  Max14
• 

  Max15

  Where He Really Sleeps

  Officially, the basket in the hall. Actually, the floor under the kitchen table, on the one warm tile above the pipes, waiting out the hours until dinner. In winter he moves to the rug, under the red blanket, which he pulls off the sofa himself when nobody is looking.

  Max16

• Mr Wieringa's Crust

  Mr Wieringa next door is seventy-eight, a retired baker, and he has never once admitted that the crust exists. Every morning at half past seven Max waits at the fence, and Mr Wieringa comes out to check the post, which has not arrived yet. The crust appears anyway, somewhere in the checking.

  Max17

  He has never admitted the crust exists.

  Max18

• 

  Max19

  

  Max20

• The Sock Collection

  • One sock, never a pair
  • Never chewed, only collected
  • Kept in the basket he doesn't sleep in
  • Counted back on washing day

  Max21

  What He Gets Away With

  Socks. Only ever one, never a pair. Max doesn't chew them, he collects them, carrying them off to the basket he doesn't sleep in, building up a small hoard one sock at a time. On washing day the count begins, sock by sock, until they're all found and returned to where they belong.

  Max22

• Who Is Who

  Noor

  Reads to him on the rug, his head on her leg

  Mr Wieringa

  Saves him a crust every morning and pretends he doesn't

  Otto

  Sleeps against him in winter and denies it

  Bas and Femke

  The ones whose faces he breathes on to start the day

  Max23
  NoorMr WieringaOttoBas and Femke

  Max24

• Half past seven, and Max is still at the fence, waiting for a crust nobody admits to. The red blanket is still on the rug, pulled off the sofa by morning. Bas and Femke still check the sock basket on washing day and come up one short. Noor still reads to him on the rug, his head heavy on her leg. Otto still denies the whole thing.

  Max25
  

  Kooikerhondje, born 2016. Still walks round the wheelie bin on Thursdays.

  Max26

• This book was made for Max, from the words and photos of the people who love Max.

  bookofmypet.com