A tribute to Buddy

Approximately 19 months ago, I thought I had done the hardest thing I have ever done - giving birth to my precious daughter. However, what my husband and I had to do today is by far the most difficult thing I can ever imagine. We had our darling 13 year old lab, Buddy, put to sleep. This post is a tribute to Buddy and his life.

The picture above was taken just 9 days after Kendall was born. Although he got a little grumpy with her once she started moving around and pulling on him, Buddy loved Kendall. He would protect her from anything and everything. In the end, and after an anti-dementia drug to help keep him mellow, Kendall could just about do anything to the big guy, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. He loved her and she loved him. She knew that in the morning when we got her up, Buddy and Chance (our 6 1/2 year old German Shepard/Chow mix) would always be there to greet her. She knew that when she was sitting down to a meal, one or both of the boys would be under her chair waiting for a dropping or two to fall, which she happily did on purpose on many occasions. Unfortunately - she will probably never remember Buddy except in stories we tell her and pictures she sees.

I didn't meet Buddy until he was 8 years old, when Jeff and I started dating. Buddy was a BIG dog - at his heaviest, 95 pounds. But he was all love and energy and happiness. He LOVED chew bones, and would normally finish a decent sized chew bone within 2 or 3 days tops. Jeff loves to tell the story of several Christmas' before we met and a chew bone that was longer than the door frame. Jeff's Mom would buy Buddy one of these chew bones every Christmas. "Buddy would walk around the house as proud as can be with the chew bone in his mouth. Once he got to a doorway, he would bump into it since the chew bone couldn't fit through, then he would tilt his head just enough to angle the chew bone, and off he would go." He would finish one of those bones within a week.

Buddy loved milk bones. There for a time he knew exactly where the milk bone box was. If you mistakenly even said the words "milk bone" he would jump up and run to the cabinet and press his nose against the door, waiting for you to open it. If you asked him, "Buddy, what do you want?" he would bark and then run to the cabinet.

Buddy loved to play football. Although I never saw him at the height of his talent, he was the best catcher I've ever seen in a dog! You could wail a football at him, and he would jump up and catch it in his mouth. Same thing with a tennis ball most of the time. And pull toys...wow...if you wanted to get your arm out of socket...just play with him and a ring or rope.

Jeff crate trained him when he was young...and he never lost his love of his "box." If he was bad or in the way or you just wanted to show off, all you had to say was "Buddy, go to your box" and he would tromp off and lay down in it. And although it was an "eyesore" decoratively - we always had to make sure his box was there for him to go to at anytime - otherwise he just wasn't happy.

There are hundreds of stories and anecdotes I could put into this post. Buddy was a one of a kind dog. Kind and happy and strong and loyal and smart. In the end, besides old age, Buddy suffered from severe arthritis in his shoulders, hips and lumbar/spine; 3 cracked ribs (probably from falling when he couldn't support himself in his last days); a malignant tumor in his lung; and a severe urinary tract infection. Our strong, happy boy became a weak, tired old man in just a matter of months it seems. In the end we decided it was best for Buddy to end his pain and suffering. One of the hardest decisions a person can make. However, we know that he is now back to being strong and young again, and he is chasing squirrels and catching balls for Jesus, and looking down on his family sending us kisses.

Good boy!