Ode to Buddy Boy

Today my sister and her daughters had the sad task of helping their beagle, Buddy, travel across  the Rainbow Bridge.  I wasn't sure how to comfort her except to acknowledge how much he was loved and the good life she and her kids gave him.  We always called him the Lucky Dog because he managed to get adopted.  When Buddy was given up for adoption, he was not a cuddly Snoopy-like puppy.  Think Walter the Farting Dog, and you have him. 

Helen originally went to the SPCA to see about the basset hound up for adoption.  When she met Abby, there was this sad-faced beagle hanging with her.  They called him her brother, and if I remember correctly, Helen was given the option to take only the basset.  But, if you know my sister, there was no leaving Buddy behind.

And it is a good thing she took him, because not only was he devoted to Abby, Abby the Diva Dog expected Buddy to attend to her.  He was very good at warming a spot on the couch for Abby to sleep on when she was ready to roost.  He attended to her hygiene, frequently cleaning her long basset ears.  He was her punching bag when the grumpy girl wanted someone to snap at.  He was always at her beck-and-call;  poor Abby is going to be lost without him.

Buddy had one expression, old man serious.  He looked the same way when he was happy as he did when he was hungry, sad, or lonely.  He wasn't a snugly dog, but once he learned that pats on the head felt good, he'd nudge your hand and look at you with those sad eyes until you petted him.  He backed away if Trixie or Abby pushed forward, but he'd wait and return later for more.

Buddy loved to eat.  Anything.  And I mean anything.  I won't go into detail about how he supplemented his daily two bowls of diet food, but it was disgusting. One of my funniest memories of Buddy involves his voracious appetite. One night Helen made a roast for dinner.  As we were cleaning up the kitchen and chatting away, our backs were to the table.  We heard the telltale thump; Buddy had gotten on the table and he had the roast in his mouth.  Well, it was an expensive hunk of meat, and Helen wasn't about to let him make off with it, so she grabbed the other end and a tug-of-war broke out.  Helen was yelling at Buddy to drop it, he was hanging on tight, and Trixie snuck up and under the roast eating as much of it as she could grab.  I guess Helen eventually won as he dropped the roast, but there were no  midnight roast beef sandwiches for any of us.

I often thought of Buddy as Billie's dog.  She'll tell you her guinea pig hates her and her bird ignores her, but Buddy was always there for her.  She liked to take him for walks, in and out of the house.  She'd snuggle with him on the couch when they watched television. He'd listen to her play the violin, and he'd let her dress him up like a girly dog.  But, she drew the line at allowing him to sleep in her room because Buddy had a bad habit of lifting his leg.  (Helen has gone through a lot of carpet cleaner.)

Buddy snored like an elephant's trumpet.  If a dog could have sleep apnea, I would guess Buddy had it.  He was so loud we'd have to turn up the television to hear above him. He could rattle the windows. I would never let him sleep in my room because the sound drove me nuts.  So, each night he slept in my sister's room.  I guess his snoring didn't bother her because they snored in tandem. 

He's sleeping peacefully now.  Helen gave the girls the option of being with him when he was put to sleep, and they went there to say their goodbyes.  I'm proud of them for being so brave.  I'm glad they were able to love him to the end. Now,  he's scampering around the Rainbow Bridge with Lucy, White Dog, Abner, Daisy, Cleo, Mr. Dobbs, and Tramp.  Goodbye little Buddy.  We'll miss you.