Buddy

 “If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went.” – Will Rogers

Around eight years ago, Sheridan and I made an over-three-hour drive to far- southeastern Oklahoma, deep into the boondocks, to visit a Border Collie puppy to hopefully make part of our family. Sheridan had seen a picture of him, and in her heart, she instinctively knew he was going to be our next dog.

Some time beforehand, our beloved lab-mix, Inky, died peaceably in the backyard, and we felt the moment was right for our other dog, Karma, to have a canine companion. At the time, we believed Karma to be part Border Collie, and it seemed a good idea to find another of her breed with whom to play. When we did genetic testing on Karma some years later, much to our surprise, we discovered she didn’t have a trace of Border Collie. I chuckle as I think about it.

After no small amount of difficulty, we finally discovered the remote farm where the puppy lived. How cute he was!

In no time at all, Sheridan fell in love with him, but I wasn’t certain, and I told Sheridan we should take our time and think about it for a few days. Not to be deterred, Sheridan stood her ground, and I trusted her intuition. So, we loaded our soon-to-be-named Buddy in the car, and Sheridan sat in the back seat with him as we made the long journey home. He didn’t whimper or whine at all, for even as a little puppy, he knew his home was with us.

Thus, we began our lives with Buddy, and before too long, he entered his awkward-puppy phase, and I loved it when one ear stood up and the other drooped down. In spite of what you see here, Buddy was invariably cheerful, and his smile would light up wherever he happened to be.

As an adult dog, if any one word could be used to describe Buddy, it would be enthusiasm. In nearly everything he participated in, Buddy exhibited what the French called, joie de vivre, a cheerful enjoyment of life, an exultation of the spirit. It truly didn’t matter where that was, whether it be playing water sports with me by the pool, taking neighborhood walks with Karma, Sheridan and me, prancing as he awaited his share of Chicken Grillers or Chicken Jerky, simply going into the backyard, or chasing the most hated creature in his world, squirrels. I don’t believe Buddy ever caught one, but he loved trying and scaring the living daylights out of them. When Sheridan and I would sit to watch a show on TV, he would invariably sidle up to her to be petted. He had the most incredibly soft fur, and we jokingly referred to him as the “cashmere dog.”

Even when he slept, Buddy was entertaining. I’ve never seen a dog that could relax as fully as he could, lying on his back with his legs up. It was hard not to laugh when I saw him in his sleeping position, this time with his squeaky-pig toy, which he had tucked under his chin.

Buddy was an integral part of our family for over eight years, but one horrific morning we woke to find him unable to move his back legs. We rushed him to an emergency clinic in south Oklahoma City, only to discover he had a herniated disc in his lower back, compressing his spinal cord. Arrangements were made for us to take him to Stillwater, where he had emergency surgery that same day. Post-op, the veterinary surgeon said Buddy had an 80% chance of recovery.

The next six weeks can only be described as an agonizing, ongoing hell. Not only did he have persistent paralysis, he had fecal and urinary incontinence, and aside from sleeping, Sheridan devoted herself totally to Buddy’s care. She patiently helped him urinate by expressing his bladder, cleaned up mess after mess, gave him prescribed medications, and prepared his meals. My role was that of a gopher, scurrying around ordering box after box of absorbent pads, keeping up with the necessary baby wipes and gloves, and making sure we had adequate supplies of dog food and medications.

Of all of us, Buddy suffered the most. Beforehand, he always had excellent control of his bowels and bladder, and I’m certain it didn’t feel good to him to lose it. He was mostly limited to a dog cage to protect him, as he could easily motor away just by using his front two legs, dragging his bottom, putting him at risk for injury. No longer could he chase squirrels, play by the pool, have free range of the home, or just enjoy day-to-day activities. That said, his attitude was generally great, and he savored the pleasant moments, such as gnawing on the marrow bones we bought him.

With this particular problem, most dogs regain the ability to walk after two to three weeks, but unfortunately, Buddy didn’t demonstrate any improvement, even after six weeks. By this time, it was clear he was suffering. Even with assistance, he became unable to go up and down steps without pain, and there were moments when he seemed depressed and lethargic. As his caregivers and family, Sheridan and I felt we couldn’t wait any longer and made the agonizing decision to end his life. So, we summoned Dr. Angela Dwyer, a home vet with Lap of Love Veterinary Hospice, who compassionately put him to sleep in an oak-tree-shaded area in our front lawn.

Our suffering after the end of Buddy’s life has been nearly unbearable, and the tears have flowed seemingly nonstop. That being said, it appears clear, even in retrospect, that we made the right decision to let him go. As I think deeply, I am certain Buddy was a personification of pure, unadulterated love, and he passionately cared for his family with every ounce of his being. I’ll never get over his death, though I’ll try to find a way to keep going, knowing that because of him, my life was made richer, fuller, more joyful, and I’m a better person than I was before Buddy came into our lives.

There will never be another Buddy in the world, though I feel confident when my time comes to go across the Great Divide, he’ll be there, wagging his tail, barking his distinctive high-pitched bark, and beaming his beautiful, healing Buddy smile. I love you, Buddy, and always will.

By the way, if there happen to be any squirrels in heaven, they’d better keep their eyes peeled. After all, their most feared enemy is now in their midst.

Happy hunting, Buddy!