Buddy’s Way

We said goodbye today, my little Buddy and I. I had not planned for this to be his last day with me, but my plans are often changing and rarely go as I had plotted out.

Two years ago this coming May Buddy began to slow down a lot and the vet thought he may be starting to shut down. It turned out to be just a temporary concern and I’m thankful I had almost 2 more years with my little Buddy.

He came to me from a high kill shelter, Buddy had little chance of leaving alive. His mom had been euthanized, inexplicably, even though the pound knew I was on the way to pick up both Buddy and his mom. One last cruel jab to Buddy’s heart, already broken by the betrayal of his former owners who’d put he and his mom out on the street in cold November 11 years ago. He was already between 5–7 years old when I wrapped him up in a soft blanket and brought him home.

So much love and living can be had and done in 11 years. So much determination and stubbornness in such a small, red, long-haired body.

He loved the farm life--no couch potato was he. Buddy loved “herding” the chickens in at night even though the chickens were as stubborn as he was. Perhaps that was the challenge, who could “out stubborn” the other.

Buddy proclaimed himself to be the big dog on the farm and challenged (on the other side of the pasture fence) our 160 pound Anatolian Shepherd. What he was deficient in size he continually made up in attitude. It was Buddy’s way.

He loved riding the farm gator down our 1/3 mile lane, often disembarking at the bottom of the lane to race me to the top where he’d flop down in the lush, green grass and roll. Most times I let him win our race. Or did I? Because the joy this little guy had for living was a win for me, often lifting my spirits at the end of a physically difficult day.

Buddy was not an overly affectionate dog as dogs go. He cared more about not being alone than being touched, crying and howling if he thought he was left all alone in the house. So I took him wherever I could.

I, myself, am a pretty singular creature too. So I understood Buddy’s need to not be crowded and smothered. I appreciated and respected his need for space as he did mine. I appreciated Buddy’s way.

Eleven years of hearing him bark or call to me will be hard to unhear. The sound of his toenails on hardwood floor — now silenced — will be sadly deafening. His empty bed calling sadness to my heart. But 11 years of laughter as he ran towards my call— red ears flying in the wind — will always replay in my mind and tears will eventually turn to the sheer joy of having had him in my life.

And today, if I close my eyes I can see him running — red ears flying in the wind — running towards the other dogs in the place I cannot see for now, as he flops down and rolls in the never ending lush green grass.

Jackie Deems copyright 2021