Buddy came to us from the SPCA. My son was volunteering there and had his eye on a dog. I did not want to go; all those furry faces wanting to come home with me. Well we went...and came home with a black and white Jack Russell Terrier. My son named him Buddy because that was what he was going to be.
Many small dogs think that they are big dogs; Buddy knew it.
He also knew who needed comforting.
He knew my husband was always good for another cookie.
He knew when it was time for my husband to arrive home.
He loved to ride but never found his 'car feet'.
He didn't always play well with others.
Going for a walk was the best.
The smell of matches would send him to hide under the bed.
He loved girls.
It took many circles to find the right spot.
Life is strange though isn't it? On this same day that we were feeling so sad, my great-niece had one of the happiest days of her life; her wedding day. And when we couldn't face the emptiness of our house and went for a drive, we saw a sandhill crane chick in a field with its parents; a lovely serendipitous moment.
I am not a realist by nature. I do know that life comes with pain and loss and change, but I don't readily accept it. Sometimes I shake my fist and stomp my feet and cry. I knew our Buddy was old and that I might lose him soon, but I hate that he is gone. I know that I will listen for the click of his paws in the hall, and look to see if he is sleeping in his basket and sense a special emptiness in our house. My heart will ache and my eyes will leak and a lump will hurt in my throat. And I will remember him and laugh, and be grateful for his presence in our lives for so many years as a welcome and faithful friend, and a good dog.
Lovely Mama, and requiscat im pace lil' Buddy dawg.
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