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.
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