Saying Goodbye Inch by Inch
Buddy’s been slowing down ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly even to me.
But today I had to admit it, Buddy’s no longer a young dog. When I rescued him from a notoriously high kill shelter they thought he was already between 5–7 years old. That was 9 years ago.
Our journey started rather unexpectedly as many of the best life journeys do. The only Dachshund Rescue in our state called and asked if I could pull 2 Dachshunds (a mom and son) from a high kill shelter quite a distance away. The Dachshund Rescue was full due to a Pomeranian Rescue but said they’d take Buddy and his mom as soon as they had the room. Buddy never left my home.
I wasn’t sure about taking these 2 “littles” into my home since I typically rescued big black dogs — the type of dogs usually not adopted and on death row in shelters. When I was told if I didn’t pull these babies they would be euthanized I could not say no.
I called the shelter to let them know I was on the way to pick up the 2 Dachshunds and while I was driving to pick them up they inexplicably euthanized Buddy’s mom. They gave no good explanation as to why they would do such a horrific thing.
Whatever the case, Buddy saw his mom — the mom he’d never been separated from his entire life — in a cage across from him and then she vanished minutes before I met him.
Understandably, he was an absolute basket case when they brought him out to me — a puddle of tears and whimpers and urine and groveling. I immediately dropped to my knees and got as close to the ground next to him as I could. I was sure the shelter workers thought I had issues but I could have cared less.
Apparently he came to this shelter because he and his mom were raggedly walking the busy city streets in the winter, obviously lost. They were microchipped but the phone number attached to the chip was disconnected. The pair had likely been dumped.
His given name was Ricardo but after spending a few moments with him I called him my little Buddy. All the way home he cried and howled and licked my hands and fingers unsure if I was a good person or a bad person — his eyes begging me to please be the former.
It took us a very frustrating year to really gel as a team and it wasn’t long before I realized what Doxies lack in size they make up for in determination and a sheer stubborn will. We had both met our match it seemed and we had many emotional tug of wars.
Buddy decided early on he would not be a couch potato as many Doxies are. He simply would not stand for it. Since I live on a farm he quickly became the smallest big farm dog, at least in his own estimation.
If I was outside, he was outside — too afraid to be without me for even a moment. Losing sight of me caused him to hyperventilate so I tried to take him everywhere I possibly could.
For 8 years he’s run beside me and slept in the grass and tried to herd chickens into the coop for the night. He’s joyously rolled in chicken poop and other unseemly things stealthily trying to get in the house before the smell was detected. He’s joyfully eaten disgusting things then licked me on the face.
He’s been under foot and at the foot of my bed for 8 years just wanting to breathe the same air as me. At times I’ve been impatient or too busy or self absorbed. He’s been always forgiving and understanding, patiently waiting as he lovingly looked into my eyes — pure, unashamed, unwavering love wrapped in red fur.
And now he’s leaving me inch by inch so the vet thinks and my heart sometimes dares to whisper. His ravenous appetite is no more. His hearing is almost nonexistent. He gets lost in the front yard. His eyesight is failing and he is afraid. His step has slowed, the spring in it has left and now he trudges with his head down ever on. His ability to take the stairs on his own to find me is a monumental task so I carry him. I gently carry him as he snuggles into me. Two hearts beating as one in this freeze frame moment in time.
As I write this (upstairs in the computer room) I distractedly miss the once familiar sound of doggy paws on hardwood floors and am startled to look down into the blurry eyes of the gray muzzled red Dachshund I call my Buddy. He has climbed the 13 agonizingly difficult steps to find me. He has climbed to find me.
So this is what it looks like to be unconditionally loved on earth? Yes, this is exactly what it looks like.
Jackie Deems copyright 2019
