My mom was a dog lover. From the time we adopted our first family dog, a mutt I named Lonesome Leonard, until her death, my mom always had a dog. Her last dog is Buddy.
Buddy is an ugly dog, but he's so ugly, he's actually cute. He has a large head and long neck, a long body rather like a bassett, big brown eyes, a tail of steel, and short legs with feet that point away from his body.His bark is ferocious for such a little dog. My parents found him in a shelter, and Mom fell in love with him. I went with her to meet him and couldn't believe that she could love him. He's slobbery and wants constant petting. His saliva made my skin itch as did his fur. Mom was insistent that he was the right dog. And so Buddy became part of the family.
After all the paperwork was finished and medical care administered, I drove Mom to pick him up. He was excited to go for a ride and jumped, wiggled all over the front seat and Mom. She was insistent that she hold him on the way home because she wanted him to know that he was a loved and cared for dog. She felt badly that he'd been a shelter dog, that no one had wanted him. She talked and petted him the entire way home. From that moment and until her death, Buddy and Mom were rarely separated.
Buddy was Mom's constant companion for the next several years. My dad always said that Mom could never be lost as Buddy was always with her. Just look for Buddy and there Mom would be. Buddy and Mom watched TV together; he especially liked the dog shows. Mom would nap; so would Buddy. Mom would clean house while Buddy would follow her. Should strangers show up to the house, Buddy would protect Mom until he was certain they weren't going to hurt her.
The day Mom went into cardiac arrest, it was Buddy who alerted my dad that something was wrong. While she was in the hospital and my dad had other worries, Buddy stayed with us. He whined and cried; it was as if he knew Mom wasn't coming back. We kept Buddy for several days until my dad felt like he could bring Buddy home.
I notice that Buddy whines and cries more than he did before Mom died. However, he likes playing with our dog, and he doesn't mind too much when he stays with us. I feel badly for him though; he loved my mom and she loved him. He completely lived up--and continues to live up--to his name: Buddy. A constant companion.
