A Speckled Pup

--Buddy the dog, 1998-2011
Requiescat en pace

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations
--fr. A Dog has Died, Pablo Neruda

There's a rabbit on the run
Man and beast and sky and sun
Who's talking to the birds in the trees
Why it's just my dog and me
--My Dog and Me, John Hiatt

King went a-runnin' after deer
Wasn't scared of jumpin'
off the truck in high gear
King went a-sniffin'
and he would go
Was the best old hound dog
I ever did know
--Old King, Neil Young
_______________

Back in 1998, in a pre- Phony War on Terror (PWOT ©) world, Ranger looked at a litter of Catahoula cur pups in the spirit of friendliness with the breeder, not looking for a dog as all of those slots were filled.

But one -- the future and only Buddy -- was as cute as a speckled pup, which makes sense as that is what he was. Ranger was smitten, and told the breeder he would return when the pup was weaned; he was a mere 5 1/2 weeks old. Oddly, the breeder said, "Take him now, or not at all", and so Buddy came to be a part of Ranger's troop formation.

Buddy grew up to be a sturdy and healthy dog, if not always just a bit shy and a tad awkward. Ranger had always attributed this to his too-early maternal separation. Despite that early setback, Buddy became very independent and well-adjusted.

On Christmas Eve 2011, Buddy left this earthly plane, apparently in his sleep and without struggle. This is his honorific.

Buddy was a good dog and partner for all of his years. Sometimes Ranger thinks he imprinted on him like the geese on Konrad Lorenz, as his eyes opened after taking him home and holding him in his palm.

Bud was not a fighter, but he never backed down from a fight presented, either. However, his preferred method was to turn and walk away from any an aggressor. Fighting was a last resort, and he had to be hard-pressed to engage in such brute activity.

In his prime he was an athlete, and flat-footed could jump over the sides of a full-size Chevy truck. He was always game for a ride and rode shotgun until he could no longer enter even the passenger side of a vehicle. He delighted many a Saturday morning garage sale attendee by his re-entrance to the vehicle -- via jumping through the window (garage-saling being one of his regular outings.)

While commands were not his strong suit, owing to his lineage of living in swamps and such, the one -- "get down" -- sufficed to make him a suitable travel companion. Towards the end, when he could no longer navigate the entrance to a vehicle, Buddy settled into the life of a porch dog, a venerable position in the South and one he seemed to take to with great relish. (Alas, he was much too solid of an animal to be lifted in the compartment of a vehicle.)

Traveling was a great pleasure for Buddy, and he knew when Ranger was in a store or restaurant to seek refuge under a tree, where he would wait patiently. Ranger remembers his pal as being a bit reticent, but Lisa remembers that hand might have been overplayed as Buddy was always eager to receive a pat of affection (though he was mindful to look back at his master in hopes that his actions would be met with approval.)

One of Lisa's fond memories is of a Saturday morning visit to the local pastry shop with Buddy, and the offer by a spunky South African women of a bit of her croissant. Jim said, "Oh no, he never takes food from anyone but me." "You just watch me!" said she, and so Buddy was eating out of her hand in under a New York minute. I loved those moments of spunk, when love of a good French pastry overcame all common sense.

When Buddy could no longer visit the outside world, Ranger brought it to Buddy via daily human food treats which Buddy anticipated tremendously. It was a way for him to be vicariously along for the ride with his master. In his reveries during his lengthy naps, we are sure Bud was traveling with the wind in his face, ears back, tasting and smelling every enticing molecule which passed his face, as any honorable member of his tribe did.

In his last month Buddy had been often unwell, and his actions betrayed this fact. Always a pleasant and personable dog, he became unaccountably surly and even aggressive at times, attacking the pup which had shown up on the property in August, a dog which Buddy had often befriended. This was not the Buddy we knew, and it almost looked like he was suffering from something like Alzheimer's towards the end.

After Buddy bit Ranger in one of these furious moments, Jim apprehensively discussed the possibility of euthanasia with his vet, but simply could not do it. While it might have been the expedient move, Buddy dd not appear to been in physical distress, and life has meaning even for a cranky old dog.

But enough of Buddy's final failings. That is not how we wish to remember him. Ranger buried his dog in a isolated stretch of woods near the house they both had occupied. It is peaceful and quiet there, a nice spot for animal or human contemplation.

Buddy never strayed, seldom left his owner's sight and wasn't fawning. He was totally focused on Jim, and Jim provided for Buddy to the best of his ability.

The Catahoula era of Ranger's life has now passed, having left when his beloved Buddy disappeared down the trail and around the bend.

"I feel like I lost a brother," says Jim. Buddy may not have been a brother in arms, but he stood patrol each night faithfully, nonetheless. Jim is bearing the loss of his faithful companion stoically, as I'm sure Buddy would understand.

"You are gone but not forgotten, old friend. You were a good dog."