Monday, November 16, 2015


Buddy, the most compassionate animal I've ever known. 

It has taken me forever to write this, and I still don't know what to say. 

Two months ago I started working on a very long post about Buddy, the most compassionate animal I've ever known. Three weeks ago, around bedtime, Buddy started acting strange. 

I Googled his symptoms and the only posts that came up, time after time, were poisoning. I called the vet and the vet tech agreed that he most likely was poisoned--accidentally or intentionally--but without the poison there was no way to test him and find out how it happened or how to help him. The vet tech repeatedly told me--every hour until 4:20 a.m.--that she did not want to wake up the vet, and that Buddy would most likely vomit the toxin and "he will be just find in the morning" due to his large size. Finally, at 4:02 a.m. another vet tech told me that there would be little they could do for him, that he would most likely be fine in the morning, that "everyone likes to think of their animals as family, Honey," which naturally rubbed me the wrong way as I am a educated, intelligent grandmother who was watching my best friend die in my granddaughter's arms, then he told me that if I insisted I "could" bring Buddy in, but it would be up to the vet whether or not she would do anything to help him. 

Twenty minutes later he fell asleep, sighed deeply, then died. He was in his bed, at home, surrounded by his pack who all ran to his side. His sister licked his face and cried. The chihuahua nudged his back. Baby, the desert dog, head-butted him, trying to wake him up. 

This is all I can say for now. Buddy remains in my heart, and right now, everything I have to say about him is twisted in a tight ball of pain in my throat. I am working on his story, which I will share at a later date when I can bear the pain. 

Buddy's sister, Holly, is still fighting off cancer after two years, which is fantastic for a 17 year old dog, and the pack is comforting each other in their loss.