BUDDY'S PILLOW

 

4060

Pt. 1

I miss my little Buddy.

Some might question my choice of names. He was a she. We gave our female Shih Tzu a male dog's name. I don't know. The name just seemed to fit.

Buddy was my second dog. I loved and lost Princess, my black and white Cocker Spaniel, almost seven decades ago. At the time I met Buddy, in 1996, forty years had elapsed since Princess was run over by a dump truck. (I simply don't know any other way to describe the way she crossed "the Rainbow Bridge").

I honestly don't know why I waited so long to adopt another dog. Perhaps I would have never done so, if Buddy hadn't wandered up in our front yard. (Since then, two more precious creatures, Lucy and Queenie, have come and gone, and the current one, Toby (as "current one" implies) is still with us.

Buddy was a dog on a mission. (I kid you not). One night, after she first wandered up, and when I still kept her in the garage, we heard the garage door go up, and Buddy began barking. The next morning, we found greasy footprints in the driveway. Another time, when our daughter was estranged from her husband, and was staying with us, Buddy wouldn't leave her side; even when I invited her to accompany me to the post office. And still another time, my wife wasn't feeling well, and I urged her to make an appointment with her doctor. Shortly thereafter, Buddy began following Jean around the house. Where Jean went Buddy went. When my wife did visit the doctor, and had a mammogram, a malignant tumor was discovered. Thankfully, my wife is a "survivor," (as I am also). I have often said that "whereas, some people never fulfill their mission on earth, I believe Buddy fulfilled hers better than most of her human counterparts."

It is difficult to see a precious pooch age before your eyes. Of course, on a comparative basis, a dog ages six years for every one human year. They say, "a dog doesn't live as long as a human being since it doesn't take a dog as long to learn to be perfect." I think Buddy came as close to fulfilling this adage as any dog, (or any other creature, for that matter), that I ever knew. 

And we loved her for it.

Pt. 2

Time and space would fail me to share as much about Buddy, as she so richly deserves; (but I have previously written a great deal about her in my little volume). Sadly, as with all humans and all animals there came a day when time caught up with Buddy, and her health deteriorated in a matter of a few days.

Buddy had always slept on a pillow which lay at the foot of my bed. One night, not long after she left us, I experienced what seemed to be a tangible, but yet invisible weight against my shoulder, and then against my feet; next to where her pillow lay.

I will spare you any further details here, but I have previously written about additional ethereal experiences which encouraged me that I would, indeed, see her again one day. I can only characterize such occurrences as a grace that God afforded me. 

You simply don't forget a dog like Buddy, nor take her for granted. And while I cannot bring myself to say I loved one of my dearly departed pooches more than the other, I will admit that Buddy had a unique personality, sense of empathy, and a special care and concern for those whom she loved.

Speaking of something I cannot bring myself to do, I also can't bring myself to move Buddy's pillow from the same old place she laid for ten years, and where it has lain for an additional seventeen years; since Buddy crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

The following excerpt is taken from the back cover of my volume, "A Man's Tribute to His Devoted Dogs" and alludes to my upcoming reunion with my precious pooches.

“But perhaps Our Savior will smile, and beckon with His hand, as if to say, ‘Well, Bill there they are. What are you waiting for? There’s fields and flowers and trees aplenty. Go for it. Romp and run and carry on. Love those wonderful little puppies of yours for all you’re worth.’ And with this I’ll turn and my favorite creatures will be looking up at me, expectantly; eyes shining, ears twitching and tails wagging. With this, my heart will skip a few beats, and I’ll scoop them up into my arms. And they’ll rest contentedly against my shoulders. And best of all… we’ll remember one another, and the love we knew will be undimmed and stronger for the years we were apart.”

Until then, Buddy's pillow will remain where it has rested for almost three decades, and will remind me of not only my little Buddy, but all those precious pooches that have waited for me for so many years.

by William McDonald, PhD