"Overreacting" or concerned?

I have seen a lot of “what are you worried about” posts concerning the Novel Coronavirus, (aka COVID-19 Coronavirus, aka Wuhan Coronavirus) the latest strain of the coronavirus, and the comparisons being made to Influenza A and B that we have this flu season, so I decided to take a look at the facts being reported.

First, COVID-19. Here is the website I checked to get the stats on COVID-19:

https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/.


As of this late-night writing, there have been 86,992 confirmed cases. Of those confirmed cases, 45,313 have been closed. 42,334 have recovered, and 2,979 have died. That means of those cases that have been closed, 6.59% of the closed cased ended by fatality.

There are 41,679 active cases, and of those 34,111 are mild cases and 7,568 are serious or critical cases, meaning 18.15% of the active cases are serious or critical. Many of them will recover, but it is realistic to think that several will not, as evidenced by the 6.59% fatality rate of the closed cases. However – just for the sake of discussion/argument, let’s keep it to straight facts. With 86,992 confirmed cases globally and 2,979 confirmed deaths so far, the mortality rate of COVID-19 would be 3.42%.

Now, Influenza A and B. Here is the website for the CDC’s estimates for the ongoing flu season:

https://www.cdc.gov/flu/about/burden/preliminary-in-season-estimates.htm

 As of this late-night writing, the CDC estimates 32,000,000 cases of influenza on the low end and 45,000,000 on the high end. To make things easier, we will use the low-end numbers in our statistics here. Of those 32,000,000 estimated flu cases, 14,000,000 have led to medical visits resulting in 310,000 hospitalizations and ultimately 18,000 deaths. These are estimates based on CDC’s weekly influenza surveillance data and are preliminary, so that is why I am using the low-end numbers. Based on these low-end numbers, 0.05 of influenza cases end up in a fatality. Of course, any death is one too many, so we mourn those 18,000 US lives lost.

Out of curiosity, I took the 32,000,000 flu cases and multiplied it by the COVID-19 mortality rate of 6.59% of the closed cases would have resulted in 2,108,800 deaths. Even if we use the 3.42% number from above and apply it to the low-end estimate of 32,000,000 flu cases, that would still result in 1,094,400 deaths in the US alone.

And THAT is why many of us are concerned. If this thing gets away from us, hundreds of thousands of Americans could perish.

Do I think it will get to the point of the Spanish flu of 1918-1919 where there were 500,000,000 infected worldwide, with 675,000 deaths in the US and an estimated 20 to 50 million globally? No, I don’t. I believe our “overreaction” will save thousands upon thousands of lives nationally, and millions globally, because as a human race we have hopefully learned from the Spanish Flu Pandemic of a mere 101 years ago. I believe the CDC and World Health Organization do everything in their power to overcome these diseases, but we also can’t let complacency overcome caution.

The facts are there. This is a rapidly spreading virus with a high mortality rate, so I will wash my hands even more than I already do, I will continue to cover up when I cough or sneeze, and I will clean and disinfect whatever I can whenever I can. I will do everything I can to make sure I don’t become the next victim or worse, pass it along to anyone else. I hope you will too. Maybe the country “overreacting” will save lives. Maybe it will be yours. Or mine.

Yeah, I’m OK with that.

Happy 35th Marcia

It was 1984, and something magical happened. Something came about that changed the way everyone looked at things from one moment to the next. Perceptions were altered, and the metamorphosis was riveting.

That’s right - Transformers were born in 1984. Is it a robot, or is it a truck? Oh

hell no – it’s both? I know! You too were spellbound!

Of course, as usual, I wasn’t paying attention. The yellow robot is a Camaro? Yeah, totally missed that. I was too busy being in a transformation myself.

I was falling in love. Hard.

June 1^st, 1984 was the first time we spent any time together. Sure, we met on the street nearly 15 months earlier with and handshake and a kiss, but I went on my merry inebriated way and finished off my 21^st birthday face down in on a throw rug somewhere I’m sure. This night was different though, and fate pushed our paths together again.

I was paying attention this time.

When each of our dates showed up with someone else, we laughed it off and asked each other “what were the chances of that actually happening”? We talked a lot that night – until 6 AM in fact. I’m sure that made a great first impression on your folks. Apparently I didn’t make them too mad, because I was welcomed to the family fairly quickly…just not that first night.

More importantly, I must have done something right in your eyes because I was welcomed into your heart. We were pretty much inseparable that Summer and Fall, and after a short courtship, you agreed to be my bride. On December 15^th, 1984 we said “I do” in front of God, family, and friends.

And I still do.

I still love your smile, and your laugh takes any tension the day has produced and brushes it aside with ease. We have our challenges and yet we meet them head on, knowing we are stronger together to triumph over all obstacles. Our dreams never die, our hopes always flourish, and our love never fails.

I am who I am today because of the transformation I made after meeting you. I wanted to be a person someone wanted for themselves. The fact that it was you that wanted me became my inspiration to try and become the best version of myself. I’m still a work in progress, but if you’ll give me another 35 years, I promise I’ll get there someday. In the meantime, you get a soul that is totally devoted to you and our family, and a heart that will go on loving you forever.

Thank you for 35 glorious years – I am truly blessed. Now and forever, I love you Marcia.

WE the People

There are moments in history that have galvanized our country as one.  Pearl Harbor.  JFK.  Challenger. 9/11.  Oklahoma City.  Katrina.  Columbine and Sandy Hook.  The Boston Marathon bombing.  So many tragedies where countless lives have been lost, and in our darkest hour, we turned to each other.  WE prayed at vigils.  WE mourned the losses.  WE cried countless tears.  WE sang our anthem in unison.  WE were the UNITED States of America in all of it’s Glory.

So must WE be again.  This election has brought out the worst in us.  WE have brought 2 of the worst possible candidates to the forefront of this precedent setting decision.  At no time more than the present have we needed a strong leader for our country.  We have an image that has tarnished over the past 2 decades, and our strength as the world’s economic leader has long since faded. We do not command the respect we once did, and for a country as proud as the USA, that is a shame.  Our duty was to bring someone to the table that would be able to restore our status, and both parties have fallen quite short. 

That ship has sailed though, so now we must decide.  I know who I am voting for, and post-election, I know the only person whom I will support. 

They just might be 2 different people. 

I will perform my civic duty and vote, and I hope my candidate wins.  However, if they do not, I STILL pledge allegiance to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.  Whomever wins, well, they’re the President – MY President.  I will expect them to uphold our constitution, and to represent our country in the way we should be represented, and in turn, I will pledge my support to our country as I always have.

I will also continue to try and make my community better.  Let’s face it, that’s where it all begins anyways.  WE have the power to affect change in our daily lives.  WE have the power to send a message to all of our elected officials that they are our hired help, tasked with managing the day-to-day steps of running our City, County, and State.  Our only escape is to not let our politicians define us, our task is to outline, with excruciating clarity, the very meaning of what our leaders should be, how they act, demand their performance, and to act swiftly if those conditions are not met.  WE have to stand together to make our lives enriched, and hold our elected officials accountable when they fail, but conversely, and as equally important, support them when they follow through with their challenges. 

Most important though is how we treat each other, and during this process we have failed there as well.  Gone is the solidarity exhibited during raucous renditions of the Star Spangled Banner sang when WE were down.  When WE were attacked, when tragedy struck, WE picked ourselves up and raised our spirits because WE were in this together. 

These attacks are different.  They are not from an inside source – the attackers are us.  Family and friends, classmates and co-workers, acquaintances and strangers, every one of us has an opinion and most of us are not only willing to share, but to question the other’s patriotism and worse, their intelligence.  WE are at each other’s throats.  WE assign blame to the other party, and we ridicule their aptitude.  “How can you possibly vote for THAT candidate – what are you – stupid?”  WE talk to each other in ways WE would not allow our children to speak.  WE are supposed to be the example of how to act, and yet, WE have failed there too.

But it is not too late.

Tomorrow night, WE should have some clarity on whom our next President will be.  It will be a close vote. Many of us will not be happy.  But one thing will be certain, and that is the American voter will have spoken.  WE have the opportunity to take a deep breath, accept the result, and rebuild our faith in each other. Our only hope is to not turn on each other as we did during the last year.  WE must come together as we have before, but stronger than ever.  WE must replace the passion for our candidate with a passion for our fellow man and country, and WE must pledge our allegiance to our country and its new leader.  If we continue the infighting and erode away the foundation of our country’s strength, no President will be able to lead us to prosperity.

WE begins with me.  And You.  And my neighbors and yours.  Let’s find our passion for our Country, our State, our City, and most importantly, with each other.  To be aWEsome again, WE have to be right in the middle of it.  WE have to stop pointing a finger and start lifting one.  WE are the answer.  I’m in.  I hope you are too.

40 Years

The call came early in the morning, 1:30 AM I believe.

It was well before the caller ID era, but we knew who was calling. My father was losing his battle with diabetes, and his fight was waning daily.

"Mrs. Kazmer, I'm so sorry, but your husband has passed quietly in his sleep", the caller said, "Please accept my sincere condolences".

I wasn't on the phone, so I didn't hear those words, but I saw my mother's face and I knew. I will remember my mom's next words forever though. Through heart wrenching sobs, she said "he is no longer in pain".

Frank Wilbur Kazmer passed on this very day, January 30th, 1976, exactly 40 years ago, at the young age of 55. The final blow to his health was kidney failure brought on by diabetes. This terrible disease also took his sight and the use of his legs, put him in a coma for months and contributed to a collapsed lung, and yet, I never heard him utter "why me" once. He was always the catalyst to his own success, whether it was ascending through the ranks fighting in World War II and the Korean War, or through the yet to be bourgeoning world of Orange County California real estate. He could have been bitter to have his destiny decided for him, but that was not his style.

I hardly knew the real Frank Kazmer. I was 13 at the time, and had watched him battle his health for 5 or 6 of those years. He came to some of my baseball games, even though he couldn't see them. He attended my brother's basketball games, just to hear the roar of the crowd. He moved back to South Dakota in 1974 because he wanted to be home, but could only smell the trees and feel winter's brisk kiss. The man had been dealt a pretty ugly hand in life, and yet he reveled in its every minute. What I wouldn't give to have had more time with him.

My wife never met him.  My daughter has only heard the stories. Nieces and nephews miss the man with which they have never shared a conversation. 40 years from his last breath on earth, and he still commands an audience.

When Valerie Reid Kazmer joined Frank late in 2013, she had lived more years without him, nearly 38, than she shared with him, 33. Yet, she never remarried. Whenever we'd talk about Dad, her eyes would sparkle like a young teenager, and you could actually feel the love she still had for her Frank. While my mother battled cancer, we had to have the inevitable talk with her about her burial. Her wish - "bury me close enough to Frank, cut a hole in each of our coffins, and that way I can hold my guy's hand forever". True love lasts forever.

Dad, the harsh pain of your passing has long subsided, but don't ever think that you are forgotten. As I celebrated my recent 31st anniversary with my bride, I couldn't help but think of you and mom and the 33 years you shared together. Marcia and I are approaching that number with the commitment, loyalty, and love that you both had, and I can only hope I have become the kind of man that warrants the same kind of devotion mom had for you.

Even today, you are an inspiration to me regardless of the short time you were given. I firmly believe that I am the person I am now because of the person you and mom molded early on. I love my family, I am devoted to my wife, and I pledge to always give the love and support to Jessica that you gave us. I live today as you lived then, and thus a piece of you always live on with me.

I missed you quite a bit today, but I'll get back to it tomorrow. Life has been a bit of a challenge lately, but we're not cut from the "why me" cloth, so I'll tighten up the boots and follow your footsteps once more, because that's what we do.

I love you Dad.

The Social Shaming of America

Shame on you. I have no idea what you did, but I'm sure it is worthy of a public shaming on social media.

You left the seat up? Idiot!

You deleted the football game I recorded? WTF?!?

You're voting for who? Are you THAT stupid?!?


I get it. We all have opinions, and I honestly think it's good to share them. It is how we are sharing them that makes me sad for humanity. Look at it this way. When we get together with friends or family, most of us get into conversations about world events. Gun control. Terrorism. Politics. Religion. There's a good chance that all of those topics get discussed at one of my family gatherings, and they could easily take place with a 3 hour time frame. There are numerous differences of opinion, and plenty of people saying, "look at it this way". Sometimes a meeting of the minds takes place, sometime not. But after our attempts at solving the world's problems, we move on. When it is time to leave, there are hugs, handshakes, "good to see you's" and plenty of "drive safe's". Everyone is genuinely glad to have seen each other, and a bit disappointed when the party starts to break up.

Here's the interesting part. Some of those same people that are willing to listen to the other side's story, and conversely argue their side in an equally calm manner will then flat out rip apart some people on Facebook over the same issues discussed with family. I admire their passion in their beliefs, but the harsh words and verbal disdain for other's viewpoints began to make me wonder, how far are we going with this on what was intended to be a way to socially interact.

So I watched. I participated to see the responses I would get in return. I shook my head - a lot, but mostly, I lost some faith in what we are becoming as a society. The hatred. The hypocrisy. It is truly stunning to see how anti-social Facebook, the "social network", has become. The November 13th attacks in Paris spawned a slew of profile photos to be changed with the French flag being superimposed over their standard picture. Facebook went nuts! I get what everyone was saying, that it became more a trend than anything, but in a world that has lost touch with what matters, this gesture forced them to learn why they were doing this. Maybe they have no idea of current events, but a small gesture like this, one that simply means "I'm sorry this happened to you, you're in our thoughts", may mean that someone is a little more in tune with what is going on in the world.

What's amazing to me is the backlash that came from those. One person whom I have personally seen air out relationship issues on Facebook, which of course elicited a groundswell of support from friends and family, rips into the masses for jumping on the bandwagon of changing their profile pics.  Another that has regularly asked for prayers for his child chided all those changing their profiles as well. Apparently we can share support when you are having relationship or health issues, but not with others across the world when their country is under siege, claiming numerous lives and changing families over there forever. Mind you, I am NOT advocating that we stop praying for the health of friends and family, nor should we turn a deaf ear towards the people in our lives that are going through tough times emotionally. What I am advocating is that we allow people to be compassionate without get labeled as shallow for 'jumping on the bandwagon'.  Maybe those people haven't been the best at caring in the past, but sometimes a major event, like the Paris attacks, wakes some people up and they become more cognizant of the world's issues and thus more invested in the cure. When you call them out for that action, you are part of the problem. Once you find issue with people being or becoming compassionate, you are now the negative impact on people's lives, and you will start being cut out of theirs. Maybe that's what you want, but I assume that joining a social network and accepting them as friends means they are more dear to you than you actually show.

There is also lot of discussion lately about bullying, including cyber-bullying.  I see parents talk about how this needs to stop, and other parents and the school systems need to be part of the solution.  Then that same person will go a rip someone's rear end on Facebook for having an opposing view on a political or social topic. They point out where everyone else is failing, and quite often with intense, pointed criticism. They even stoop to name-calling, with some harsh, politically incorrect terms referring to other's mental capacity. People that have actually campaigned against cyber-bullying are performing the same acts for which they shame others.

I also see more and more over-sharing. A gruesome photo of a Pitbull's bloodied neck after living on a chain for all 3 year's of its life made the rounds - over a million times. I understand that too. Share it enough times and we help catch the criminal. But this was over 2200 miles away from where I live, and there is another 1,000+ miles to the next coast, and yet this was shared internationally. Why? Share it locally and put it on the local TV and in the local papers, but to have it repeatedly shared world-wide made it no longer about the crime and more about the photo. Sharing this photo over a million times is Fox News-esque. It is more about the sensationalism of the photo than it is catching the bad guy. In fact, the photo is still shared today with the tag line "Let's put this animal abuser away for good"...except he has already been caught, put on trial, found guilty, sentenced AND completed his jail time - all done by local tips, authorities, judges, and facilities. So many people are consumed with shaming the bad guy that they are blinded by the fact that not only is the photo of an incident that happened thousands of miles away, but it is also three years old.

Don't get me wrong, I love what social media can do for us. Sharing family stories, good times with friends, and yes, news, sports, and weather relevant to my area. I am OK with a picture of a PERSON that is being sought by the police for questioning for animal abuse. However, showing the actual abuse does not do me any good. I hate animal abusers - HATE 'EM - but I see no need to show what has happened to the animal. Show me who did it, and if I know them, I'll make the call. I'd rather you show me a picture of a rescued animal going home with a new family. You can summarize the back story, but in a world filled with hate and barbaric behavior, we control what stories we 'Share with your friends'. Each of us have the power to fight the fight in a way that doesn't glorify the despicable act, but still denounces it.

We are inching our way to social terrorism - or at least social network terrorism. The constant attacks with extreme bias or prejudice are becoming commonplace on Facebook, Twitter, and the like. If that tactic were used in a court of law, that attorney would get tossed out of the proceedings. If you have a point, make it. If you can't do so without a personal attack, maybe you don't have any basis for your argument.

But, I have faith in you. I fully believe you have the wherewithal to state your case and back it up with nobility and facts, and more importantly, your ability to comprehend that your thoughts and ideology may not conform to everyone else's with which you can accept. See each other's points, and if you remain unconvinced, walk away with the solace that you maintained your loyalty, and more importantly, your dignity at all times. THAT"S what people will remember. Your reputation will remain unscathed, and whether or not they ever see your points, they will remember your decorum and social aptitude.

In the past I have done exactly of Facebook what I am chiding today, but it wasn't getting me anywhere, and I wasn't very happy with myself. It can only get better if we find our hearts again, and I hope that in the last couple of years I have found mine, for good.

If not, give me a gentle reminder...no shaming necessary.

Hard Day

Today was difficult. It shouldn't have been. Buddy has been gone a year, we have a 6-month old puppy that reminds me of Buddy, and time heals all wounds.

Except for today. It hurt today. Today was the day a year ago when we found our Bud-dog on his bed, gone from our lives. He spent thousands of nights in the garage, and always greeted us with a stretch, a yawn, and a nose under the hand.

But not that morning. No, a year ago today, he succumbed to his battle with cancer, and what hurts the most, is he passed alone. Was he scared? Was he in pain? Why, oh why, couldn't we have more of a sign that his last day was so close. Even worse, we had a long day at work that day, so there wasn't much 'family' time that final day. It tugs at my heart every weekend, the time we got to spend most with Buddy. 

Oliver now fills those weekends, but Oliver is a high-spirited, rambunctious pooch, and although we love Ollie dearly, we miss Buddy immensely. I'm sure once Oliver gets past that adolescent stage, he will have many of the same traits Buddy did, but for the time being, Ollie is pure energy.

I however, am not.

It might be why I miss Buddy so much.  His laid back, let's just chill together attitude suited me to a T.  Oliver is a pup that needs to play, and as I play daily with the O-Dawg, my body reminds me how old it is.  Buddy and I had similarly old bones, so we were a sedentary duo that got along just great.

That said, as trying as Oliver can be, he is also a joy. He reminds me so much of Buddy in physical appearance, and that in turn added to the hard day. On the anniversary of Buddy's passing, and the hurt of wondering if he was scared, here I am looking into a near carbon copy, with eerie similar eyes. He is a work in progress, but he will be a great dog too. Oliver is loved as was the Bud-dog, and that is a lot of love. Ollie has some big paws to fill, but he is getting there.
Oliver is healing my heart, but today, that was a tough job. Today, I missed my Bud terribly. I missed the undying love of a dog that gave it in huge doses. I missed the constant companion of an old friend, and I wished for his presence just one more time.

For those of you that have read this and have a long time family pet - hug them once for me. What I wouldn't give to 'hug up' my Buddy again.

I miss ya boy. Get your ball - I'll throw it one more time.

He was not 'just a dog' - he was our Bud-dog

It was at the Optimist's Home Show over 14 years ago that we first met a shy black ball of fluff, hand carried over to our booth by my daughter.  While we worked away at our RadioShack booth, Jessica had wandered through the many other booths and like any 12-year old, she landed at the Western Hills Humane Society and their adopt-a-thon of kitties and puppies.  She hastily returned to the booth to tell us about this cute little puppy, and of course asked could she have him.  We told her we have a kitty and for now, that was enough.  We had just moved into a new house, and were getting settled in.  Bringing another responsibility into the house was just not in our plans.

To Jessica, that meant a change in tactic was needed.  She somehow convinced the fine folks at the Humane Society booth to allow her to carry the puppy to us.  I saw her coming at least from 100 feet away, but my wife had not.  I decided to watch my wife's reaction when the puppy arrived to see what my chances were of staying a one pet household.  3 seconds.  That's how fast I knew we were now a 2 pet household.  When my darling bride turned and looked at me with the same puppy eyes as the now mobile puppy, I knew I was out numbered.  The mostly black lab puppy was quiet, already a snuggler with whomever picked him up, and clearly a friendly pooch.  Mind you, I love dogs, so they weren't going to get much fight from me - I just knew my wife was truly not interested in another pet at the time.  That was the plan until the pup was brought to us.  A visit from the fluff was enough.

And so it became that Buddy came into our lives.  The laughter and tears and the indelible etching of his unwavering love onto our hearts has changed us forever.

Buddy was a good pup.  He peed in the house once.  Seriously.  Just one time.  Call us lucky, or dog whisperers, or just plain petrified of a smelly house, but somehow we managed to get a trainable dog that learned quickly that outside was where he did his business.  He was not a chewer either.  Well, strike that.  He didn't chew anything of ours, but did have a penchant for chewing on sticks.  Small, large, whatever, we couldn't break him of chewing on sticks. 

So he decided to break himself of the habit. 

Somehow he was able to swallow a big enough piece of stick that it was still somewhat intact when it reached the other end of the gastrointestinal tract.  Not big enough to get stuck along the way, but certainly big enough to get caught in the, shall we say, ahem, doorway?  That day,  I noticed the Bud-Dog doing his business, but when I looked over about 5 minutes later and he was still, uh, crab-walking around the yard, I noticed something 'sticking' straight out of his ... doorway.  I started to walk toward him and halfway there I realized what the 'blockage' was.  Determined a dog was he, and he gave one final 'push' followed by a YELP heard 'round the world, OK block, and he was stick free.  I swear to you, from that day, he NEVER chewed another stick.  Smart dog.  I also like to joke that it was that day he became less snobby - he no longer had a stick up his butt.

Our 4 years at that house went by quickly, and Buddy certainly loved it there.  He had a good yard, a dog house built into the side of the garage that was heated with a 40-watt bulb in the winter, and a small kiddie splash pool in the summer.  He grew to a healthy 85 pounds and was a constant companion.  We gardened, he laid right there and watched us.  Of course, he may have been watching for the good stuff as he routinely made visits later for a cucumber or strawberry.  Of all the things that a dog could pull on an owner - digging, incessant barking, etc., - eating healthy was awful tough reason to get after him.  Eventually he stopped that as well...it was easier to look at us with those sad brown eyes and score the same thing without the work.  Like I said... Smart dog.

Every dog has their tricks they learn, and Buddy was no different. High 5, shake and other hand shake, spin, down, over, and a family favorite, Elvis. On command, Buddy would do Elvis, he would not take the treat out of your hand without curling his lip up on the sides. No luck in teaching him to say "thank ya, thank ya very much" though. Like any dog, Buddy shared an exuberance for all things meat, and like any dog, would manifest that exuberance in finger shortening lunges at said meat. 'Little Bites' was the next command he learned, and he became so proficient at little bites that he would actually eat corn on the cob by nibbling it off like the rest of us. He learned that soft, gentle bites made for more frequency of getting bites. Tellin' ya... Smart dog.

We moved to our new house in 2003 and while the house was a wonderful upgrade, I had a huge worry that the unfenced yard would make keeping Buddy around a challenge.  We kept him in a kenneled area attached to the garage and took him out to go frequently.  He quickly learned his 'area', and much to our surprise, never ran off.  Ever.  We would leave him free when we were at home and he never was out of range of a good whistle.  He would visit the next door neighbors once in a while, but he never ever roamed far.  His loyalty to 'home' was as strong as I have ever seen in any dog.  Knowing we would not have the expense of adding a fence, we decided to use those savings on a sprinkler system.  Dragging hoses around to keep the large yard green was a challenge, so we decided in 2007 to have a system put in to save ourselves some work.  Until May.

It was a Memorial Day weekend I'll never forget.

Buddy loved to ride in cars, trucks, you name it.  He just liked the trip.  He was always glad to get in the car to go to work with me, and he was just as happy to get back in for the ride home.  He knew the minute I touched my keys it was time to go.  It was always fun to watch him follow my hands...if the got close to the keys the anticipation heightened.  I had to install a key hook on the wall because I couldn't put him through all that agony every time my hand neared my keys. On Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, I reached for my keys again.  This time they were in the house, but I knew Buddy would want to join me for a quick trip to the dump to off-load the freshly cut grass.  Sometimes he rode inside the truck, sometimes he rode in the pickup bed.  Jessica joined me to lend a hand, so to today was an outside in the bed kind of day.  He hopped up, took his spot by the driver side, and he awaited the trailer getting hitched up and away we went.

It was supposed to be a quick trip...there and back.  But he jumped.

First, let me say it.  Shame on me.  I should have had him in a pickup bed leash system, but based on hundreds of other rides, I never dreamed he would jump out.  I can still see his face.  I looked in the side mirror at the exact time he jumped.  The look of shock when he realized what was about to happen is an image burned into my memory forever.  He hit the dirt road hard.  Haaarrrrd.  I was already braking, and I think the trailer missed him or it may have been worse.  By the time I reached him, his terror stricken face and cries for help said it all.  He had a shattered right rear leg and a compound fracture of the same hip.  He tried to pop right up, but it was too damaged.  I held him down enough to get around behind him and scooped him up like the pup he was 7 years earlier. Adrenaline, I owe you one.  

Jessica called her friend Mika who had just recently began work for a new veterinarian in town, Dr. Warren Whalen.  Dr. Whalen's office was directly between the dump and home, and would be the spot to get Buddy looked at the quickest.  The X-rays confirmed the leg being shattered, and there were 3 options.  One was that Buddy was in pain and could be put down.  Next.  The second option was to remove the leg and he could still live a happy but three-legged life.  Doable, but what's the 3rd option doc.  Number 3 was a plating surgery that basically encompasses the shattered bones and has screws attached to the more solid pieces.  The plating would most likely be permanent, but could be removed if Buddy had discomfort later in life.  Sounds like a winner, what's the downside.  

"Cost".

"I failed my dog to get him in this predicament, so it's option 3".

When it was time to leave him for the night, I kneeled down and got nose to nose with my medicated and sedated friend, and I promised him I would fix him up. And I apologized for not having his safety my priority.  And I cried a little, hugged him a little, and hopefully comforted him a lot, as did Jessica and Marcia, who had come quickly when we called.  After leaving him there on the stainless steel table, clearly in great care, my heart sank.  When I got 5 feet outside the door, I broke down and sobbed for a solid couple of minutes.  I had betrayed our family dog, one whom had never betrayed us, and I owed it to him to get him the surgery.  We had money saved for a sprinkler system, so it was an easy decision.  I drug hoses for 2 more summers.  We tried to train Buddy to pee water, but apparently that wasn't an option.  

When it was time to bring him back home, the ride terrified him.  It was gut wrenching to watch, but he clearly now associated the ride with pain, and that was so sad to see.  We made it back home, and after a 3 month convalescence, a thumbs up from the vet, another 3 months getting re-used to his kennel and another positive check up, Buddy was a happy, 4-legged, neighborhood watch leader again.

Happy was clearly the best way to describe Buddy.  Just seeing the satisfaction he got from rolling in the grass would take the edge off of any lousy day.  The way he would jump up, just his front legs, into the car right into your lap when you opened your door when we got home would make our day. Watching the sheer joy of a pizza delivery and the certain 'triangles of love' that he knew were to follow.  The Bud-dog loved to eat, and a visit from Dominos or Papa Johns was a 'slice' of heaven.

Fast forward nearly 7 years.

Knowing his penchant for all things tasty, that never changed, we became concerned last November when Buddy started losing quite a bit of weight.  He was due for a checkup anyways, so we took him to see his regular vet, Dr. Elsom.  They took some X-rays and gave him his vaccines.

And then called the next day.  

Liver cancer.

More options.

None of them good.  We could put him down.  Next.  Chemotherapy would probably weaken him but maybe give him 12 more months.  Or we could keep him comfortable and he might get 6 happy months.  So comfortable it was.  For a dog that has given us so much love and happiness, I just couldn't put him through a series on procedures that would weaken him and on some days make him feel sicker for the selfish reason of getting just 6 more months. We would feed him all the dog food and people food he wanted, take him to the store and hang with us, and pretty much make him the King of the Castle for another 6 months.

We got 9.

On Friday August 16th, we headed for a long day of work followed by Downtown Friday Nights, a music festival we help coordinate.  14 hours later at 11 PM, we got home to a happy dog.  We fed him some canned dog food, which he scarfed down.  Since he stilled seemed hungry, Marcia gave him the remainder of a package of sliced turkey cold cuts.  He wolfed that down too, then drank a bit of water. Marcia stayed and visited another 5 minutes just to give him some company. He then did something he hardly ever does...he gave her one lick on the face.  He was never one of those dogs that licked you whenever he got the chance, so it was very out of character.  I finished my late night dinner and caught up on Facebook before going to shut Buddy in for he night. He was right there when I opened the door in his usual spot.  He popped right up, we went outside to see if there was any 'business' that needed to be done, and we came back to his bed. I knelt down and rubbed his chin, one of his favorites spots to get rubbed, at least later in life.  I sat with him for a few minutes petting him, and I gave him the regular "good boy", and headed to bed.

8 hours later, the morning of August 17th, Marcia found him, on his bed, gone from our lives.  He had clearly gotten ill at night based on the evidence in his kennel outside, but he made it back to his bed, and was laying like he always does, but sadly, this time he would not pop right up.  We knew the day was coming, but we expected a gradual decline and a tearful but peaceful goodbye with the 3 of us.  I pray that it was still peaceful, but it still haunts us that he was alone.  In his last 24 hours on this Earth, he got to spend a mere 15-20 minutes with his 'family'.  We hope he wasn't in pain and we hope in his solitude that he wasn't scared.  We hope he knew how much he meant to us, and hope he felt loved until his last breath.   

It has been a hard week.  We want our dog back.  He was the sweetest, most gentle dog ever.  He brought joy to a gloomy day, and he loved my wife and daughter tremendously.  It has been 8 days, but there are still plenty of tears, and plenty of depressingly sad moments, but the hardest thing is the empty spots of our day that Buddy filled.  Morning coffee on the deck with the pooch at our side. Barbecues punctuated with those begging eyes. Thunderstorms spent with an uneasy dog inside having his nerves calmed.  The voids that are left are the hardest to overcome. It will happen in time, but for now, our grief rules the time we are not focused on work.

Our solace is now he has no more cancer.  No more plated leg.  No more kennels. And all the triangles of love you can eat... at least I hope so. As author Will Rogers once wrote, "if there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die, I want to go where my dog went".

There are some, very few, but some, that will point out he was just a dog.  For the rest of us that have experienced the love and loyalty a dog can give, we know there is no such thing as 'just a dog'.  He was our Buddy.  Poocherrrr.  Boopy.  He was never just a dog.  

He was our Bud-dog, and we miss him.