On January 4, 1995 I went to the doctor complaining of a headache that didn't seem to go away. It wasn't your typical headache, the kind you're used to getting every now and then, just a pain in my head that always seemed to be there. After just a few short tests it was determined that I had a brain tumor and would need surgery immediately. Being 18 and stubborn as a mule, I refused to sign the release forms for the surgery and had to endure the begging and pleading and bribing from my parents. One of their pleas spoke to me. My mom offered to let me get a dog if I would go through with the surgery. This was an unbelievable event.... Mom hates dogs! Dad always had a dog growing up and believed that us kids should have one too but Mom wouldn't hear of it. In fact once he took us out and brought a puppy back as a surprise to Mom and when we took him back to the Human Society for his "6 month surgery" he went home with another family. So you can see that for Mom to willingly offer having a dog reside in the house was a pretty big sign of how much she loved me and how much they really wanted me to have the surgery.
Fast forward a few months and things were looking good. I was finally able to stay at home by myself for a few hours without needing someone there. Dad decided it was time. We drove out to the local Human Society and looked around. There were plenty of wonderful pets there but one in particular struck my eye. He was shyer than the other puppies and hid in the back of his cage. But once I coaxed him out he was as alive and playful as ever. I looked at his information card and knew he had to come home with us. He was born on January 4th, 1995.
While Dad was signing all the paper work I sat on the floor playing with my new friend and thinking of calling him Buddy Holly (a fascination I was going through) when I over heard Dad telling the lady all about my recent experience and how I needed a buddy to keep me company during the day. My mind was made up. He would be called just Buddy.
Throughout the years, Buddy and I did everything together. He's always slept with me, goes with me to run errands, eats part of my cereal (as well as other meals). I even taught him to speak when I said "Who loves Wendy?" , a trick he wouldn't perform for anyone else. When I relocated to VA I had a hard time finding a place I could afford and that would take dogs. Besides, Dad had also grown quite attached to the little mutt as well. He was always a bit jealous of our relationship and tried to get Buddy to love him just as much as he loved me. And so it was that Buddy would remain a PA dog and live with Mom and Dad.
It's been almost 13 years now and Buddy's had quite a life. There are so many stories I could tell. He's been loved by so many of our family members and friends. He's been a bribe for getting Honey to come home with me as a large loud family can be intimidating. He's always been there when any of us needed him. I think even Mom has grown quite attached to him. In fact he was able to come down for a 3 week visit last year, and Mom sent Little Brother down a few days early to bring him back because she missed him.
This morning I got the call that Buddy is no longer with us. Mom woke up to find him lying on the floor next to her side of the bed, not breathing. At 9:10 he was properly buried in the back yard along with the last toy he brought to Dad to play with, two treat bones, and some of the hair Mom kept when they shaved my head for the surgery. Dad and The Little Man (who they were babysitting today) properly sat down and had cake and milk for the wake.
Reading other knitter's blogs about loosing a pet so close to their hearts made me worry about what I would do when the time came ,as I knew he was getting old even if he didn't show it. I now join you as a grieving one left behind.
January 4, 1995 -
November 13, 2007