Buddy, the Unlikely Hero!

This is Buddy, Daddy's best friend and possibly his salvation!

It is no secret that our family is way beyond animal friendly. We always had pets when I was growing up, sometimes as many as seven at a time. Dad could never turn away a stray and sometimes it almost seemed the strays of the neighborhood actually were given our address as a sure thing for a new home. There was even a time when Mom, Dad and I were sitting on the porch enjoying lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw something blue flit through my peripheral vision and land on and antique bird cage that mom had converted into a hanging plant holder. I looked more closely and realized it was a parakeet! I motioned to Dad to look at the little lost orphan and he lit up. Without hesitation he gently approached the bird, "Hello, sweetie pie! Are you lost?" The tiny bird didn't resist as dad wrapped his hand around him and brought him inside. He then gave me his credit card and instructed me to go get a proper cage and seed for our new guest. We named him Petey the Parakeety. When we spoke about the luck of him choosing our specific house it seemed obvious that he actually landed on the antique cage  because it probably appeared to be the closest thing he could find resembling his previous home. He and Dad had a special relationship. I can honestly say that he is the only parakeet I have ever heard sing as though he was a song bird, but every morning when Dad would walk into the kitchen and greet Petey, the little blue fellow began to chirp happily like he was talking to his best friend. He was a wonderful bird and Dad loved him dearly...for an accidental pet, he was sorely missed when he eventually passed.


After Dad ended his falconry/raptor rehabilitation/re-population project we only had two cats. Although Mom was sensitive to animal dander she loved our cats, Tom and Timmy. They were indoor/outdoor cats and caused very little trouble. We were all very attached to both of them, each having lived 17 and 18 years respectively. For Mom, losing Timmy was very hard. He was her little friend, cuddling with her and comforting her when Dad would work late or have to leave for a seminar or and airshow. He died suddenly of kidney failure. I don't think Mom could open her heart to another pet like that again. Tom was everyone's cat but mostly Dad's and mine. He was tiny but tough; a brawler, familiar with every cat in the neighborhood. It seemed as if he used up not only his own nine lives but perhaps borrowed a few from Timmy. Dad adored him and when guests would come over he would pick Tom up, put him on the table and brag about how "solid" his little orange cat was. Tom was so muscular you could feel every ripple in his back and shoulders. Dad was very proud of his little scrapper. At age 17 Tom seemed like he would live forever, but one day he lost a fight and his eyes were scratched, blinding him. Tom refused to eat after that fight, willing himself to die presumably because he could not imagine continuing life as a blind cat. His little body became emaciated in a matter of three weeks. A week before Dad and Mom were to attend an out of town medical seminar, Dad said if Tom was still alive when they got back we would do the right thing and have him put down. The morning they were set to return, Tom, who was sleeping beside me woke up crying. I pulled him close and talked to him, stroking him. He only lasted another 10 minutes and I felt his breathing slipping away. I was glad Dad didn't have to make the decision to let his little friend go. Poor Tom had made up his mind to leave quietly on his own. I still consider him one of the best cats we've ever had.

It seemed neither of my parents were inclined to rush out and get a new cat or dog, after that. When Mom died, they had no pets at all. Mom had her garden, Dad had his airplanes and they had frankly been burned out by all of the animals  running their lives for so many years. Maybe they just needed a breather, especially when looking forward to retirement...but then Mom's unexpected death changed everything.

I am not sure how common was dad's reaction to losing his spouse, but he took no time off work other then the day of the funeral. In fact I think he threw himself into as many  surgeries as he could handle in order to postpone his grief for as long as possible during those first few weeks. We all worried about him coming home to an empty house after work. When we all pitched in to get Mickey, a bird seemed like a great solution...but after a while it was clear that Dad needed a better pet then just a living, eating, pooping, noisemaker. He needed a companion. The grief alone underlined his isolation enough that we were concerned for his mental health. The growing memory issues and suggestion of grief related dementia amplified our worries even more.

Right as we were in the process of hiding dad's keys and modifying our schedules to help him, my nephew, Bradley, and his girlfriend at the time bought a puppy. The beautiful black and white fur ball was completely irresistible, full of puppy energy and just the thing to distract dad from his growing loneliness. Suddenly Dad was inspired by a new idea: he wanted a dog. At first I think some of us were a bit reluctant to introduce yet another pet into his rapidly shrinking world but Dad was insistent. He had not had a dog since the late '70s and, without a partner to protest, who could really argue with such a strong need for companionship? Paula and Hillary brought Dad to the local animal shelter and browsed a wide variety of dogs. None of us were unfamiliar with the proven benefits of therapy dogs, but I do think my sisters were expecting him to choose a smaller breed. Small, it turned out, was not at all what dad had in mind. In fact, I believe he really was looking to reincarnate his childhood pet: a black labrador retriever he had named Buddy.  What he found was a gorgeous, six month old, Austrian Shepherd mix with a dark black and copper tortoise shell coat. It seemed the only name Dad would even consider was Buddy...and it suited him better then we could ever have imagined.

It was kind of funny watching Dad adjust to having a pet again. For the first few weeks he would wake up, see Buddy and ask whoever was around, "Who's dog is that? Is he yours?" forgetting that the gangly newcomer was now a permanent resident. After a while it finally sunk in. Buddy was his new companion.

We worried that such a large dog, still uncoordinated and not even fully grown, might actually be a danger given Dad's weakened physical state. Although Buddy's exuberance threatened to throw Dad off balance many times, his energy also motivated Dad outside to throw balls and frisbees. Dad had a large fence installed and a zip line leash to keep Buddy under control until he was better trained. Constantly concerned for Buddy's well being, he would loop on whether or not Buddy had been fed.
"Yes, Dad, I just fed him", we each reassured him.
"A whole can?" he pressed.
"A whole can!" we would confirm.
This loop still happens every time anyone visits. I think it is the one loop that nobody ever minds. Dad is just looking after his little friend and that loving concern is completely appropriate.

Over the year that followed his adoption, Buddy proved not only that he was a good friend but probably the best dog dad could ever have chosen. 

More than anyone else, Buddy successfully got Dad out of his chair every day. Even during a sports game, he would sit patiently in front of Dad and stare at him as if to say, "Why would anyone want to WATCH a game when you could go out and actually PLAY frisbee?" Dad would always give in and go out, enjoying tossing of whatever Buddy would bring him, watching his furry pal find sticks to show him and chase squirrels around the yard. After a nice romp, they would go inside for a snack. Buddy would wait for the last bite of whatever Dad was eating knowing that Dad would invariably share a taste with him. After that they would turn on the TV, watch a show together and play "lap puppy". I think if Buddy ever were to look at his reflection in the mirror he would be thoroughly surprised to find that he is not a Chihuahua. All Dad has to say is "Come, on!" and Buddy hops into his lap trampling Dad's stomach and groin as he finds a comfy position to nap.

Buddy is the definition of a therapy dog. He has given Dad his unconditional love, motivation to live and someone for Dad to look after...and he looks after Dad, accepting Dad as, not only his best friend, but his personal responsibility to guard and protect.  Buddy is an essential and irreplaceable part of Dad's survival and we owe him a huge debt of gratitude....and perhaps a few tons of jerky treats.