No matter how badly Max wanted to give them the answers, he couldn’t.
When the mother lost her keys, Max knew they were under the sofa, but he said nothing. When one of the children snuck back into the house in the early morning hours, Max said nothing. When the laundry machine started to flood and make a mess, Max said nothing. The father thought he had misplaced his wallet; Max watched another man take it from his pocket when they took a trip into the city, and he said nothing. When the house got broken into, Max knew who did it and where he was, but he said nothing.
From the very beginning of his life to the very end, Max knew the answers, and Max said nothing. The family wanted their problems solved. Max would do that—if he could, of course. He had tried. But even if he could speak, who would believe a dog?