Buddy's Final Post is Littered With Love

It's 2020 and Buddy is now 14 years old - that's about a hundred in my years. More than a few years between blog posts but - hey - we've been having fun in Smyrna, GA.  I'm chugging away pretty good but Bud has lost a few paw steps along the way.    His rear legs are flagging and his occasional dribbles became an ever-flowing dribble such that the lady of the house insisted on adult dog diapers inside.  Throughout the physical decline, Buddy's love all things human and canine remain abated.  That began to come to an end on Sunday afternoon. 

After a regular 1/2 mile walk at 7 a.m. on Sunday, Bud settled into the morning nap position until we returned home from church about 1:30.  Then out to pee but not much energy. Later, while lounging on his favorite living room rug, he re-visited his last several meals and all of his in-between meals snacks, depositing their remains around the red and black fleur-de-lis design of the rug.  Not wholly unusual. Unfortunately, this purging continued until about 10 p.m. as Buddy never moved from his spot on the hardwoods, interspersed with inserted small rugs.  Occasionally, yet briefly, he lifted his head giving us a ray of hope, eyes half-closed. Clearly, he had eaten something vile, we hoped, and we would take him forthwith to his vet in the morning.  Sadly, our prayed about rays of hope were fleeting

Alas,  it was not to be.  Our faithful Pal had run out of options in this life.  I bedded down next to him for the night.  Rubbing his belly and side about 3 a.m. his breathing seemed a bit labored for not exercising.  His breaths now took longer to come and to complete.  At 3:30 stretched his head a bit and without any apparent struggle, Buddy gave it all up. 

And, what an ALL it has been!  Never encountered a human or a dog he did not want to immediately become best Buds with.  Big or small.  Of course, most of the little doggies - Bud called them hors' doeuvres, - mostly barked at him.  You know, the little dog-big dog syndrome.  Yet, Bud NEVER barked back at them.  Just a look, then he was on his way.

For sure, Buddy was a lover.  A lover of all things human and all things canine.  Oh, he loved a good hump once in a while, even if the intended host was not having any of it.  You see for him, love was a many-faceted adventure. And, for sure, Bud loved whatever Cindy was cooking and especially her Friday night and Sunday pizza suppers as well as snippets of the  chips and cheese from my nacho creations.

During our life together Buddy and I were truly blessed to know other wonderful, love-filled doggies and pack-walkers:  Derby, Rusty, & J.J. in Fort Wayne; Delilah & Laila on the Silver Comet Trail in Smyrna; his Beagle-Cousin Joey in Marietta; and Jaxson, Sonny, Addie, Twiggy, Chewy and sometimes Bosco in the Park @ Poplar Creek, our neighborhood.  THANKS for the great memories and LOVE to all from Buddy and his caregiver.

I hope you have had the great fortune to have and love a doggie that loved you unflinchingly, no matter what.  Ok, maybe there was a bath rebellion or an under-the-fence escape but -hey - dogs have rights too!  

In our life together, since Cindy "found" Buddy at Lab Rescue of Indiana in January, 2008,  and two-year-old Buddy and I met at his foster Mom Julie's home in Indianapolis, it has been a lasting love-connection that was of life-long mutual benefit.  Our unspoken - yet lived-out promises were:  I will be your faithful, loving dog; and I will be your faithful, loving caregiver. I know Buddy proudly upheld his side of this bargain through early Monday morning, and I pray that I have kept mine.

Rest confidently in your well-lived life, Buddy, and enjoy your fully-bellied, long, long nap in eternal peace.  Happy wags!

 

 

Why Dogs (and those who love them) Never Get Off Track

Eleven year-old Labrador Retrievers like Buddy never seem to "get off the track."  Of course, what's the "track" anyway?  For doggies, and for most of us, its the "familiar, tried and true, good enough for our parents and grandparents."  For Buddy and his forecanines, Mother Nature sets all the rules needed.  Follow the trodden path:  doors open on the right,  the edge of the paved road or sidewalk, the water's edge of a lake or river.  Ok. Ok.  There are exceptions.  Hurrying squirrels.  A rabbit.  A kitty cat.  And even the overwhelmingly, irresistible,  eau d'carcass.  Why even the sight of that cute Scottie or Yorkie with fluffy hair aflopping, or a pair of Dachsunds legs working 90 miles an hour will distract Buddy and his kind from their appointed path.  All valid reasons. For Buddy, social time tops his list of path distractions.

For many of us however, while we still remember the "tried and true," we are easily lured from these paths. Humans' familiar, self-imposed, self-satisfying culture has developed canny, sophisticated, even scary subliminal tools, to distract us and to lure us into places we would have not otherwise ventured.  For sure a great deal of our progress toward enlightenment, refinement and sophistication has provided apparent advantages in medicine, information gathering, economics,  security and, especially, in human connectedness.

This is nothing new to any one reading this blog.  For to follow the "tried and true" paths, one must choose them over billions of competing offers, signals and messages all claiming greater success, beauty, cures and the "truth."  As of yet, we have not improved on the 24/7 model of available attention time. While great advances in medicine etc. will continue to amaze us and, perhaps, even inure to our benefit, deep within our hearts and souls, timeless, inchoate truths must be reckoned with and, either affirmed, or swept aside.  Only after this reckoning can new paths be taken.  

  Most of us have a desperate desire to make order out of daily chaos, and for real peace of mind, when many others seem to losing theirs.  Our most fervent need, however, is that there be hope for us and our loved ones.  Not hope for a better job, a more responsive partner, to end poverty,or kids that achieve our expectations. This "hope" is uttered without a serious expectation of certainty.  Sort of like buying a Power Ball lottery ticket.  I don't know anyone that feels confident about their "lottery wish." 

Beware of Greeks bearing words!  Yes, the same Greeks that today cannot balance their own budgets created hope to mean "expectation."  This hope is a hope that means certainty.  Hope that it is part and parcel of trust.  A confident expectation.  The author of the Bible speaks of the hope, the certainty, the expectation and the perseverance of people who utter, pray and believe the hope that is within their transformed hearts. 

"Peace in our time," a sentiment famously uttered by a world leader just days prior to the unleashing of the greatest human-directed mass extinction of humans since the black death of the 1400s, rang hopeful to people looking for peace less than 80 years ago. But this hopeful sentiment quickly became a horrid lie and its promise of no worth to the 80 million men, women and children who were soon to be slaughtered in the name of the "purity and rights" of nation states.

Our doggies know that peace in any time results from following the true, trodden paths.  Love all other people (Ok.  At least be kind and helpful), and stay true to what Mama Doggy taught us.  Love is one of those four-letter words that is packed with so many thoughts and emotions that one word doesn't always work.  The Greeks knew this thousands of years ago and so created four - read FOUR - different words to express the most exact sense of one's feelings:   

Agape, unconditional love, a giving to others with no expectation of any return or gratitude, best known as the love God has for us; 

 Eros, mostly used to describe intimate, sexual love;   

Philia, friendship between equals or brotherly love and  

Storge, affection for family members, but also of one's country or sports team.  

English speakers must struggle to fit the many levels of love in to one word, including "I'd love to go with you" or "I'd love to see that guy lose."  Even doggies show love in many ways:  incessant tail-wagging, snuggling on the couch, nuzzling a leg or barking while a  meal is on the way.  Stories of dogs helping and saving their masters are many.  Doggy love?  A love that grew out of a relationship with a family?  An innate sense of duty.  

Yet for us, our language limits distinctions between acts or states of love.  A soldier that sacrifices his life to save his comrades deserves a different word.  One that denotes "eternal, life-giving, selfless love." The act of one who never strayed from the truths written on his heart. An act that approaches the audaciousness of Jesus' seemingly ignomineous death on a cross mostly reserved for common criminals.  Jesus, the man, the God, whose life turned the world upside down, not only for his first-century followers, but for all people for all time.  A death that ultimately is THE victory over death, not only for Jesus, but for all who share in his life.

Heady, weighty, eternal-type stuff for us, not to mention our canine companions.  We have the hearts engraved with permanent messages about paths, trodden and true which, if followed, lead to permanent love.  Our heads, however, are too often our problematic enemy.  Susceptible to the sirens and taunts of every age we wage our internal battles with the forces of good and evil.  Good is what our hearts know.  Evil is what our hearts warn against.  Our battles continue until life's end.  And there, we find that the victory has already been won.  

Weren't we expecting it all along?

 

 

 

  

Why Dogs Love Big Sticks (and so do we!).

Bud has made the transition from a Northern dog to a Southern dog easier than his his human care givers.   But then, dogs "live in the moment" . . . . . . . . . . . . . a trait we humans could use.  Being a Yellow Lab, Bud easily makes friends such as Bear, the  Black lab-German Shepherd mix with whom Bud shared a large stick yesterday.  It seems that dogs - mostly male dogs - love sticks and the bigger the better.  Why Bud is proudest when prancing like a deer holding  a big stick with antler-like branches above his head.  He's obviously making Bear jealous that his stick is the biggest of the moment.  A prancing dog is a happy dog - a dog that is on top of his world.  Not unlike his human counterparts.  Why, we love and just have to show-off our newest, shiniest, biggest, baddest or prettiest thing-a-ma-bob.  Bud's big stick sure makes him proud just like us.

Why Dogs Love Their Species (and people don't)

Comfortably ensconced in his new Georgia habitat, Buddy has made lots of new friends.  Actually, he doesn't have any enemies (ok, there's Tiger the German Shepherd that gives him the evil eye on the Silver Comet Trail in the mornings, and the doggies that bark behind fences they never leave).  But, Bud truly loves all doggies.  I mean frantic tail wagging and glassy eyes at the sight or sniff of a high tailed Bella or Wheeler or Delilah or Annie or Bailey well . . . . you get the picture.

Better yet, Bud can fantasize about future encounters while snorting for Eau 'd Doggie through the low hanging leaves of bushes and even lower grass fronds.  Bud's dog2dog encounters are full of sniffing all over and then more sniffing followed by the front leg bow with a bark of delight hoping the new doggie will do the same and play and play and play.  O the rassling, running, jumping and sounds of dogs at play.  And, Bud has never ignored a dog because of color, breed, gender, length of hair, parentage or sexual ability.  Nope, this guy is an equal opportunity player and friend.

Too bad the world of the people with the logic and rational thought and, who actually know they will die some day, can't like and play with people that are not like them. Bud assumes he will live forever and still loves every dog. I know I will die one day and in the meantime cannot possibly apologize to all the people I have ignored, disliked and marginalized because they were from a different tribe than my tribe.
Of course tribes are big in the Bible, such as the 12 tribes of Israel.  Yet, everyone belongs to at least one tribe and most of us to several tribes. You see, I was born into the American, southern, male, conservative, caucasian tribe but later also joined the protestant, professional, progressive, mid-western,nuclear family tribe.  Today, I am also a proud member of the southern, retired, grandparenting, dog walking tribal community.  And, assuredly, some day these tribal affiliations won't mean a thing.  All that time wasted.



  

Why Dogs Can See Through the Fog and Sometimes We Can't

As a five year old neutered Lab you'd think Bud's procreative instincts would wane.  Yet, upon the excitement of a new friend (or even some long time friends) his excited exuberances lean toward disfavored social behavior as in "I love you so much I want a copy of me."  Bud can be forgiven because . . . well . . .  he's a male dog.  And male dogs sometimes have feral instincts even after being divested of necessary equipment.  In a nutshell, dogs do what dogs have always done . . . keep the species moving forward.

Unfortunately, their human counterparts haven't learned much since the procreative command "to be fruitful and multiply" came from on high.  Finally, after thousands of years human males are able to produce more copies than those that die.  And, after those thousands of years we've developed rules of the road that allow us to function as a moderately successful society.  Such as, don't pick your teeth at the dinner table and one spouse at at time.  Yet very smart and famous dudes who should know better and (as my mother would say) "can't help themselves" continually "embareass" our species.

Must be the fog.  You know the fog of war, the fog of campaigns, the fog of booze or drugs and "whatever's new in the office" fog.  It's getting to where even fog gets a bad name.  Now men, mostly, have had fogs overcome them for centuries.  David was consumed by the Bathsheban Fog, Anthony by the Cleopatran fog and Tom Jefferson by the easypickings fog.

Good news!  Now, there's treatment for fog and, well, everything else that tends to get men into trouble.

• Just Twittered a picture of yourself shirtless or pantless? 
•  Fathered a child by your aide or maid? Texted or sexted too much information to people who didn't want to know?  
• Took a 3,000 mile vacation detour to comfort your new soulmate? 
• Just have a wide stance?
• The fog defense is "I'm taking a leave of absence and seeking treatment" when everyone else wants them to say "I've taken a leave of my senses and I'm resigning to spend the rest of my life raising organic baby food and seeking a cure for stupidity."  Nobody will miss you and our collective embarrassment quotient will be greatly reduced.

Yet, there's a much simpler cure for fog.  Dogs know this.  Their mothers taught them.  In fact, dog moms teach their pups all they need to know . . . in about eight weeks!

Why Dogs Love Hats (and Royal Weddings!)

Dogs love to dress up for their masters.  Bud goes to the Halloween weenie roast every year as The Great Pumpkin sporting a huge orange globe-like felt expanse over his generous back  with a bit of green and brown where the stem of the pumpkin belongs.  Bud likes it because it attracts his two favorite kinds of friends:  little doggies and little kids.  Oh, for Christmas he proudly wears the red and green felt collar with silver bell-like ornaments as he surfs just beneath the snow for a discarded Taco Bell wrapper or the tasty carcass of a "not quick enough" squirrel.  And, he's worn sunglasses and a Cubs cap (briefly) but only because its fun and attracts his friends.

That must be why the British ladies wore those retro hats to the Royal Wedding.  It reminds of either a day at the pheasant farm or viewing a collection of extra terrestrial saucers on loan from Area 51.  Now these ladies were, as they say,  haute coutre which in Americanese means "hot stuff", as long as you didn't have to pay the tab.  Actually, it was refreshing to realize that style and fashion have not been abandoned for Buckeye T-Shirts and Nikes.  But then, our revolutionary forefathers wanted the opposite of what jolly old England had to offer: a king who made all of the decisions and the privilege of rank.  And, we got it.  We get to argue over everything.  It seems we're in a constant state of anger.

When William and Catherine said "I will", and the strains of "Jerusalem" was in full throat in Westminster Abbey,  it seemed all of England was united in a single purpose. Now maybe the purpose was "We're going to have one hell of a party for the next 3 days".  Yet this was a validation of England culture as a still relevant nation.  A nation with a thousand years of kings, queens, knights, sheriffs, poets and bards, beheadings,  prime ministers and - yes - princesses.

Now comes a beautiful, modern princess with regal bearing and a smile that could disarm the hardest heart, marrying a search and rescue helicopter pilot whose life's destiny is to become King of England.  Feathered and saucer-like hats (like doggie and kids' costumes) bring out the best in their wearers. Here, a dashing lieutenant's superbly cut red Irish Guards' uniform with blue sash and aviator's wings paired perfectly with a composed, slim brunette in a classic white satin gown trimmed in English lace all of which shouted to two billion watchers:  "There is hope for all who look for the best in each other."  And with that hope in each other comes hope for our time and, maybe, just maybe, for our kids' time.

Bud and I were struck by the wedding sermon.  While It urged William and Kate to mutual love and support, and the gathered congregation to support them in marriage, it recognized the reality of life together in a world where others constantly work to divide loyalty and undermine respect.  What pressure we put on 29 year-olds these days.  "Change the world."  William has been a work in progress and now with Kate - the world's newest rock star - perhaps they can.  We need it.  Especially the kids . . . and their little doggies.

Bud  (and friend)

Why Dogs Love Easter (and Spring)

The comings, goings, conversation and laughter from the house next door rode the Easter breeze like personal nvitations to Buddy:  "Come in - pull up a bowl - eat your fill - lick my hand - scratch your back on the carpet - take a nap."  Never mind that Bud was supposed to be helping plant some of the first petunias and vinca in Northern Indiana.

Earlier this holy morning little girls with ribbons trailing down their necks and tied in crisp bows behind green and yellow polka dotted dresses clamored for attention next to little boys with spiked hair tugging at their first neckties.  Families gathered first to worship and then to fawn over the newest grandchild, laugh and eat.  Life and family go on.  Yes, Bud loves Easter and "Yes m'am, I'll have whatever you're having.  Put that dish right over here."

Spring (they say) has come to Northern Indiana.  While reviewing the late April afternoon breezes Bud's nose wiggles overtime, first embracing and then cataloging the location of each odor in a canine Excel spreadsheet. Retrieval is just a breeze a way. Our daily walks reveal the renewal of the life cycle of all plants and animals.  The buds of trees and bushes crouch in preparation for their great crescendo of color and fragrance - the resurrection of life. 

When it rains the sidewalks are busy with the journeys of thousands of earthworms scrambling foremost to find drier earth, but also to avoid the paws of the 72 pound Yellow Lab bearing down on them.  The dawn honking of Canadian Geese as they skim the rooftops in search of a pond and then using their wide wings as the original flaps to flare out and ski to a perfect landing.  Soon, Mallard ducklings will follow their mothers single file to and from the ponds as they learn the lessons of survival.  Bud recognizes and embraces this annual rite and plays his part in the balance of natural life.

Easter Scripture tells of the rising to life of Jesus from his tomb.  Death cannot conquer those who are alive in Jesus.  They will have eternal life.  It's easy to see this spark of life in nature and animals.  This determination to survive, to live on.  Humans are the only form of life that sins.  Humans are also the only form of life that know they are going to die.  Hmm. 

Bud lives each day to the fullest in balance with his abilities and limitations (remember he is not sad that he doesn't know how to open the refrigerator or drive the car).  We, however, live each day in fear of others (what they might say or think about or do to us) and regretting that which we cannot do.  Meanwhile Bud and his friends give us daily lessons for balanced living, without fear, pausing only long enough to say "Sir, I'll have what you're having."


Happy Easter

Bud  (and friend)