I… ummm… well… I… this is buddy.
Buddy is a dog that does not belong to me or really belong to anybody. We call him ‘our sometimes dog’ because sometimes he is here and sometimes he is elsewhere. I didn’t always like buddy. When I started dating D he had a large golden lab named Toby. Toby, and it would appear other dogs around this rural road, are left to roam freely and return home when they please. If you have ever set foot in a third world country you know this dog, you have seen him, and he has no pedigree he is simply: paleolithic dog.
I once found toby and buddy rolling in a dead deer carcass. Dogs… I do not mind pets but I am all about training, animals in their place and me in mine. I will not have them in my bed, so the idea of ‘pets’ for me is very stressful – they are dirty. I like fish, in their own environment, a tank.
Toby was getting older and suffering from arthritis and one night while I was visiting D and he was at work Toby decided to go outside, and there stood buddy – his best run around friend. Toby could not make it up the stairs and it is okay to laugh as I describe myself standing outside on the front lawn crying, begging and pleading with this dog to ‘come back’ and not go with buddy – D will never forgive me if I let his dog walk off and die. I even brought out a block of cheese to bribe him with! I tried to run buddy off but instead I watched them disappear into the fog together. I cried. Toby came home in horrible shape that night and I was pissed.
Life of a beloved pet is short compared to ours and toby was laid to rest and relieved of his pain, would you believe that dog fucking smiled at us just before the last injection took his life. He managed to think of us at the very last moment as I stood there weeping through snot and tears.
And then there was buddy. I blamed buddy for Toby’s earlier than planned death. Every time he came around I reminded him that Toby wasn’t here, go on, get away and ignored him.
I would go for a walk and he would follow me.
I would walk outside and there he was, buddy, like a dead thing on the front yard legs up in the air sleeping in the sun.
I wanted our dog back not this one.
One night he was outside making such a huge fuss that I couldn’t help but display my aggravation. D was at work and I am here often alone. Just as I was swinging open the door, my mouth ready to yell ‘shut the fuck up’ there was buddy on his back legs fighting 3 coyotes. Jesus mouse what the hell is going on!
Yes the mighty Pyx ran back into the house and grabbed her handy dandy sling shot! What? It worked for David against Goliath.
Buddy was all torn up, ears bleeding, a hole in his lip, chunks of fur missing, limping and smelling like death. It took all my strength to get this mass of muscle into the house and into the bathroom. I cleaned every wound, put Neosporin in every hole and fed him. I had to admit that Toby brought Buddy here. Not that coyotes would eat me but how do dogs know that?! Buddy was now somewhat, sometimes, my dog. Ugh. Not the one I would have chosen but..
Here he is, five years older, full of scars and holes sometimes feeling and showing his age. Oh he will still run out head first into a fight should a strange animal walk anywhere near me but when it is cold I let him in. D jokes the dog gets better food than he does and my neighbours have commented on how well fed he appears but I am a sucker for an old soldier that is nothing less than deserving of a peaceful warm retirement.
Yeah, buddy… if only i could get him to stop licking my couch! it’s gross.