Buddy, you performed you one task very...VERY well. Your former (and your current) Master is very pleased.
Good boy, Buddy!
Good boy.
Posted on 05/21/2007 7:23:48 PM PDT by uglybiker
I apoligize in advance for being so long winded, but I felt the need to share.
5:00am. I'm up and stumbling around the house like I usually do at this time of morning getting ready for work. Keys?...check. Smokes?...check. Lighter?...check. Monster mug o' coffee?...check.
Okay. I've got all the important stuff covered. I walk to the back door with a quick stop at the pantry to pull out a dog cookie. I walk out the door and something is missing. Normally, at the bottom of the steps, is a largish, wooly, mixed-breed dog. His name is Buddy. During the warmer part of the year (which we have alot of here in Arizona), he likes to sleep out in the yard where the ground is cooler. Normally he can hear me bumbling around the house in the morning, so he comes to the back steps to wait for me to come out. He always knew that 'Daddy' would give him some well-deserved attention and a cookie before he left. That was the daily ritual and I did my best to keep my part of the bargain.
He'd been getting along in years and, every once in awhile, I guess he'd sleep so soundly that he wouldn't hear me, and I'd find him still asleep in the yard right at the back corner of the house. He was there this morning, but when I called him, he didn't move. His body was still warm, his limbs were still limber, but my friend was gone.
And a hole opened in my heart.
No more will I see that wagging tail, those perked ears and that goofy dog grin as he lays with his paws crossed --always right over left-- just behind the back gate. Where he would stay almost motionless until the gate is actually open and "OHBYOHBOYOHBOY! DADDY'S HOME!!"
No more when I open the back door will he squirt in and play Kentucky Derby through the house with the cat. First one leading, then the other.
No more in the spring when the mulberrys flower and all the fuzzy bits fall to the ground and seemingly every #%&$%$# on gets stuck in his fur when he tries to come in the house...
No more will he lay his head on my knee and look up at me with those watery eyes and that disarming 'goofy dog grin' that he had perfected so well. That look said he knew who his master was. And that was all that mattered.....and would Master please give him a cookie? ;-)
Flashback to ten years ago.
November '97. I had recently moved to Arizona and was renting a room from my folks while I was getting myself established. I had just received a sizeable promotion at work and had saved up enough to put a down payment on a house. I was finally starting to move up in the world.
I got to work to pull a weekend shift when the man at the front gate ask me:"You know anybody who wants a dog? He's been wandering around here for two days. I felt sorry for him, so I gave him a frozen waffle I was going to have for breakfast. He likes me now. I call him 'Buddy'." My father worked at the same place at the time and, before I knew it, my parents had driven down, coaxed him into their car and brought him home. (My family has a failing when it comes to stray critters. We all have a couple.)It took the better part of a day to get him to come up to me. But when he figured out I was okay, he wasn't going anywhere. We debated on taking him to the local animal shelter, but I figured that since he was so skiddish, nobody would take him. So, when the paperwork on my house cleared a couple of weeks later, he came home with me.
He still had alot of puppy in him, so there were some problems at first. My utility trailer got stripped of all its wires, the power lead to my AC was pulled off, about two hundred holes showed up in my 'new' backyard, and I got notices stuck on my front door from animal control complaining about a barking dog. But he eventually settled down and even made up with the neighbors. One even told me that she didn't mind him barking so much because "he's not only watching your yard, he's watching mine, too!" Before long, he had truly lived up to his name. What had been some uncaring person's cast off, quickly became my closest and truest friend.
Buddy never was a big fan of the ugly bike. He didn't mind the noise, he just knew that whenever he saw me loading stuff on it, I was going somewhere and wasn't taking him.
Time rolled on. I got another promotion at work, my Father retired and my parents moved to eastern Texas. My folks always seeming to need something either hauled to them or hauled back, a couple times a year I would load up the truck and head east. Me at the wheel and Buddy behind the drivers seat with his head on the console. We took this trip enough times that we had our own scheduled stops. First: the New Mexico Welcome center on I-40. Second: The Love's truckstop west of Amarillo. Third: just outside of Witchita Falls and last: a little picnic area on Highway 82 not far from Paris, Tx.
As he got older, he developed hip displasia and got to where he couldn't climb in the truck. So I whipped up a small foldable ramp so he could walk in. He was always ready to go somewhere.
Flash back to the present.
By now, I was running late for work, so I moved Buddy from the yard and put him in the breezeway next to his dog box. My supervisor was understanding. All guys know what if feels like when you lose your dog. Also my work load was light, so I was able to leave early to take care of the business of what to do with this, that which is all that is left of my best friend.
The soil in this part of Arizona is composed mostly of rock, clay and calichi. I would almost have to rent a jackhammer to dig a proper grave. But my local veterenarian offers a cremation servce. It's not cheap, but I'm not complaining. In a couple of weeks, I will receive a small box of ashes that will be placed where I have a spot prepared under my bedroom window next to a cat who was also a very true friend.
When I got to the vet office, they had me pull around back where two assistants laid out a sling, gently rolled him into it and together (he weighed almost 100 pounds) we carried him inside to the last place I would see him.
I turned around to go and remembered somethng. I knelt down and removed the collar that I had put on him a long, long time ago. He didn't need it anymore.
I was no longer his Master.
There was a thread here the other day that posed the question about whether our pets go to heaven. I didn't read the whole thing, but I seem to remember a poster saying that there is a reason animals are rarely mentioned in Scripture. The Bible was written for mankind. Animals don't need a guide on how to live their lives.It is very scant on details about what happens to animals when they pass on. So anything I can add would be strictly my opinion. You can take it for what it's worth.
And, in my opinion, I believe that our pets are a physical manifestation of our Creator's love for us.
They are sent to us to perform one task, and one task only. And that is to serve their masters.
In doing so, they are also a reminder to their masters that they too have one task. And that is to serve Our Lord and Master.
The sheer exuberence at which they go about their one task is a reminder of how we should go about ours.
And as their lives are but a few short years, they remind us that, as their physical bodies must return to the earth whence they came, so too shall be our fate. And we should make the best of the short time we have been blessed with.
I cannot say for sure that our pets go to Heaven. I will only say that if the hereafter is supposed to be paradise, that paradise would be a bleak place indeed if my best friend is not there to share it with me.
As I type this, his collar is sitting on my desck by my keyboard. I look around the room and I see over in one corner, a very well-chewed rope toy. In another corner is the knot off a rawhide bone next to an old blue blanket he would lie on when he would come inside. I'm not sure what to do with them yet. Do I throw them out or save them for the next dog? I say next for it seems to be my lot that when one of my animals passes, a short time later another one shows up needing a home.
But I will always have a very special place for a largish, wooly dog with a 'goofy dog grin'.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
He’ll be waiting on you and you’ll have a joyfull reunion.
I still have Porkchop’s cremation box on my desk, and the paw print is next to it.
In 1994, I had just gotten married, and asked my wife for a dog as my wedding/birthday present from her. I had gotten a cat, Leo, for her birthday, but Leo and I were battling males, trying to determine who was ht eman of the house.
We were intending to get a boxer from the shelter, but it was adopted before we got back to the front desk. This was really OK, because I really wanted an Am Staff. As a consolation they gave me the number of the local Pitbull/Am Staff rescue.
We spoke with them, and after they were convinced we weren’t looking for a fighting dog, they let us meet Porkchop. Immediately, as we sat on the couch, Porkchop entered the room and sat at my wife’s feet, as if to say, “Boss, these are the folks I want to adopt me.”
Pork was about 3 years old when we got her. She had been used as the bait dog to get two males into fighting frenzy. She had been put on the street after she got pregnant.
When we got her, the puppies had been aborted, and she was fixed (I hate that word, because she wasn’t broken), so no more Porkchops could enter the world.
I can only imagine the life she had before, but if the way she was with us was a contrast of her previous life, then she must have been treated horribly. At the time, our apartment had a 25 lb limit on dogs, and Pork met that because she was so malnourished. She eventually grew to 75 lbs. (Her example with us caused the complex to reexamine the 25 lb limit and had it removed.)
Porkchop didn’t respond well to normal commands, and had an independent streak in her, so instead of reinforcing what wasn’t working, I taught her military commands. At ease meant sit. Parade Rest meant lay down, Sound off meant speak. Present arms, she would roll on her back and stick her legs straight in the air (presenting her “arms”).
Animal Planet was so impressed by this that they had her on one of their shows.
One more thing I taught her, that I now teach all my dogs, before any other lesson, is “No bite”. I taught her this because a week after we got her, my wife instead of waiting for my direction, thought it was time for Leo and Porkchop to cohabitate the apartment. Before that day, I would kennel Porkchop while Leo roamed the house, and I would kennel Leo while Porkchop was out.
I was on a job interview. My wife calls the guy I am interviewing with, in tears. Porkchop had gotten hold of Leo and shook Leo like a rag doll. My wife thought Leo was dying. I didn’t get the job, but I did get home in record time.
Leo survived, and after I taught Porkchop, No BIte, they became the best of friends. Porkchop had learned no bite so well, it impressed the other people on the AP show. I set a sandwich down, told Pork, No Bite, made her parade rest, and walked across the room to talk to the producer who had called me over.
I walked back, finished my sandwich and gave Pork the last bite. The dog trainers were beyond belief in seeing this dog never even consider eating that sandwich.
Fast forward several years. We noticed Porkchop was favoring her side. We thought maybe she had injured herself going after a squirrel...her favorite exercise partner. After a week, she was still favoring it. The vet indicated she had cancer, and it was far to advanced for treatment.
We spent the next week video taping her, so that when we miss her, we can pull out the tape and remember her.
On the day she died, I was teaching Sunday School, and after it, I got the call from my wife that Pork was dying. I rushed home, but she had died five minutes before I got there. She had wagged her tail up to the last minute, looking deeply into my wife’s eyes.
A month later, we adopted Glamorous Glennis (G. G. for short). GG is a pitbull, but in all manners is Porkchop’s twin. One problem with GG, though is that she was abandoned in an apartment for two weeks, so she suffers from separation anxiety, but that has lessened int he past few years....but, she has a very potent flatulence problem.
But, we love her, and Stink Pot, our third AMStaff/Pitbull, and Peewee, our mini dachshund...who is the boss of the three.
I encourage you to take time to mourn, then open your heart and home for another dog.
It hurts like heck! Cry.
A very touching posting and my condolences.
Buddy was lucky to have you, and you him. I just know he’ll be waiting with his goofy dog grin.
Nothing like a good cry first thing in the morning :-)
Wonderful tribute to a good dog.
Ecclesiastes 3: 18-22 - thanks for this verse, Peace.
I am so sorry that you have lost your friend. I have lost so many over the years. I cannot bear to be without several hairy friends at the same time, so that when I lose one there will be others there to console me. I hope you find a new friend soon. There is one out there just waiting for you to find him. Best of luck.
Thanks for the ping, HOTD, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this story about Buddy.
There should’ve been a hanky warning on this one. Mine is wet with tears right now. Beautifully written tribute for a beautiful friend, UB. I’ve felt that sadness you are feeling now, and my heart goes out to you. I think you are right about the purpose of pets. They are one of life’s best blessings.
We had a female, mixed, come up to our place in the country about six years ago. Someone had thrown her out when she was a young dog, and she had survived on her own in the woods. We don’t know for how long, but it took my husband a couple of weeks of feeding her, talking to her, and reaching out to her, to get her to trust him enough to allow him to stoke her hair. She was very alert and watchful of every move, even then, and was for a long time afterwards. She is absolutely devoted to him today, and guards his truck, equipment, etc., very protectively.
She has become a loving pet to us and to the extended family, but every stranger is suspect to her. She has had a number of grown men dancing to the tune of her growling, if they got too close to anything without my husband around. :) That is good, I guess, because we live in town and aren’t always around. She is beginning to show her age, and we know she won’t be around many more years. We are thankful for the love she shows us, and that we can show her the love she missed out on during her early years.
God bless and comfort you in the loss of your friend, Buddy, UB.
My girl is getting on for 13 now, and I really didn’t need to read this and cry this early in the morning - and at work. She is part Irish Wolfhound and part Collie - one of those big goofy dogs. I cannot tell you how bad I feel for you. God love you.
You have my sincere sympathy. I’ve been a dog lover for many years (I’ve got a 4-year old beagle now). They are wonderful companions and it hurts deeply when you lose them. I know that’s sometimes hard to explain to people who haven’t been through it, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.
I hear you, brother. I lost ‘Max’ two years ago. A pup tossed from a moving truck, picked up by a senior citizen, who ran into my wife at the vet. He had been burned with a cigerette, and obviously beaten repeatedly. The older woman couldn’t handle another dog....and my wife talked me into taking the dog. I wasn’t really interested....
That was 17 years ago.
He wouldn’t eat food at first. After the second or third day, my wife was getting frantic...so I went into the kitchen and sat on the floor and hand fed him for an hour, a few ‘kibble’ at a time. As time passed he would eat out of a bowl...if I sat or stood there while he did so.
He was relatively small, about 40 pounds - a spitting image of the ‘Grinch dog’ from the old Christmas cartoon classic.
One night not long after we got him, he climbed into our bed and nestled at the foot (thank God for queen size beds0. In the morning when my wife went to wake me up, he snapped at her. That didn’t go over well with the wife....(chuckle). No matter what she did, he would throw his body over the top of me to ‘protect me’. For the next decade, I woke up each and every morning with Max jumping from one side of the bed to the other - my wife finally realized either she made this a ‘game’ or she’d get bit.....(another chuckle of that memory).
Eventually he grew to old to jump on the bed...but I never had a dog quite like him. He died on his bed, with me petting him - we think it was a heart attack. Like you we cremated him, and like you I kept the dog collar, which hangs on a picture of him in our bedroom on the shelf, along with two other well love dogs (Bear and Beau).
He was happiest in my car or truck, head out the window ‘flying’ ears straight out in the slip stream.
All dogs go to heaven, of that I’m sure. How could they not warrant that final reward, and how could they not be there waiting for us?
www.roadhomerescue.org
R.I.P. Buddy. Sorry for your loss biker.
Good boy, Buddy! Run and play now with Sasha and Spockie in Heaven!
*snif-snif*
{{{{{HUG}}}}}
‘Face
Thanks for the ping. *snif*
Almost too hard to read but beautifully written. I am so sorry for your loss - what a friend you had!
Take comfort in the fact that it looks like Buddy went peacefully in his sleep.
Yours was the first post I read today and it brought tears to my eyes. I am so sorry about Buddy. You were as true to him as he was to you and that is a wonderful thing.
You’ll see that goofy grin again on the other side.
Peace to you, FRiend.
I am so sad for you. When I lost my best friend I also posted a thread on FreeRepublic. My little guy was attacked by a coyotee. It’s taken a long tme to get over it, and I think about hime every day. But, if you are a dog lover, please consider adopting another loving pet when you are up to it.
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