This is Max. I adopted him in November 1984, and to say that he altered the course of my life would be a tremendous understatement.

At the time, I was living and working in New York City. As a child, I had dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, but I struggled with my undergraduate science courses, which led me to drop out of college. For a few years, I worked as a car mechanic before returning to school to earn a degree in economics. My goal was to secure a research position on Wall Street, but when no such opportunity arose, I found myself working with a friend of my brother’s, selling and installing telecommunications and audio/video equipment.

One Monday morning, just a few weeks before Thanksgiving, I arrived at work to find that my business partner’s younger sister, Caroline, had brought home a tiny black-and-tan mixed-breed puppy over the weekend. She had gotten him from someone standing in front of the legendary Studio 54 nightclub. However, when she brought him home, her parents insisted she couldn’t keep him. Her boyfriend wanted to take the puppy in, but his parents refused as well. And so, the puppy found his way to my apartment in Forest Hills, where my younger brother, Mark, and I took him in.

By coincidence, the veterinarian I had worked for in high school, Dr. Ernie Vine, had a clinic just around the block from my apartment. He became Max’s doctor, and as the months went by, I made frequent visits to his clinic. Dr. Ernie and I became good friends, and he often told me, “You should have gone to vet school. It’s too bad you’re not a veterinarian—you would love this job.” Then, one Friday night, he said something that truly stuck with me:

"Dave, I didn’t go to vet school until I was 33. You’re younger than I was then. If you retake your science courses and earn B+ grades or better, you’ll get into every vet school you apply to. They love older students with a good story to tell."

That conversation changed everything. I went home, thought about it for a couple of days, and then made the decision to pursue my childhood dream. I enrolled at Hunter College, a liberal arts school in the CUNY system with an excellent post-baccalaureate pre-medical program. I started classes in September 1985 and completed my pre-veterinary requirements in four semesters. Along the way, I met my future wife, Amy, in organic chemistry.

In 1987, Max and I moved to Ithaca, NY, where I began vet school at Cornell University. Max thrived there—he loved hiking the trails, swimming in the streams and reservoirs, and playing in the deep snow that covered Ithaca in the winter. And in May 1991, when I walked onto Schoellkopf Field for my commencement ceremony, Max walked proudly beside me.

Max passed away in 1994, but his impact on my life remains profound. To this day, I carry his picture in my wallet alongside those of my wife and children. I often reflect on how “most of the good things in my life happened because I took Max home in 1984.”