In 2005 our Pomeranian dog of 14 years passed away. We adopted her from the pound in Camarillo, CA by means of a lottery for the many people who wanted her. She had been rescued as a lost dog over in the hills of Malibu, CA. The way the animal shelters in California worked at the time was if no one claimed the dog in 45 days they would put it up for adoption. You had to be present. And you had to pay for the shots and spaying costs prior to bringing the dog home. The female pom was a beautiful, well behaved little dog that appeared to be 6 months old or so. My wife and I won the lottery and got a new puppy. Her mannerisms were such we quickly decided to name her “Lady”, and she was our faithful companion right to the end.
It was extremely hard when she died. My late wife had already begun to have health problems and going through the grieving of losing a pet so close took its toll. Nevertheless, we pressed forward saying someday we might get another dog, but not for a while.
As my wife’s health deteriorated being a care-giving required more and more labor on my part. And I wasn’t quick to add to that schedule the responsibilities of training a new puppy. Nonetheless, one weekend in the fall of 2005 we decided to go look at puppies available for adoption. One dog that quickly stood out was a little runt… a male Pomeranian that fit inside the palm of my hand. He was actually multi-colored with his puppy hair, that would later fall out and be replaced with the beautiful red fawn color most Poms have. He had some dark brown, some black and some white, mostly around his head. The vet said the dog would never grow beyond about 3 pounds based upon its present size and body type. He was about 8 weeks old and weaned.
Call it a weak moment, a happy weekend, or a proper event… but we came home with a puppy that weekend. My wife assured me she would take care of him, get up with him each night for the first several weeks potty training him, walk him, bathe him, and do everything that was required.
His name was Buddy. His personality was quite different from the Lady we had before. He was a mischievous, happy young boy of a dog. High energy, every playful and curious, and needy at first… at least several times a night when he needed to go out. And my wife, who was very ill at the time, however well-intentioned was unable to care for a new puppy. So I did the six weeks of Puppy duty and bonded with this new friend. Buddy was actually a great description of who he was. Oh, and Buddy quickly grew to more than 10 pounds.
My late wife’s health continued to deteriorate. In fact about 18 months after we got Buddy, my wife passed away. That was a dark time indeed. I can remember calling 911 that morning and among other things they wanted to be certain that any pet in the house was contained before the fire guys got there. Buddy was crate trained, so that was really no problem. In fact he was perfectly behaved during the ordeal.
Once I learned she had died, I was in shock and grieving. Buddy was there. I remember the fire department sent out their chaplain and he wanted me to put Buddy in his cage. I refused and was much happier to shoo the chaplain away, and accept the true care of my friends who quickly showed up. Buddy welcomed them, and he kept an element of life in a scene of death. In the weeks, months, and years that followed, Buddy was my faithful companion every step of the way.
About a year after my late wife passed… in the summer of 2008… the economy failed and the company I was working for was unable to get through the economic downfall. They “transitioned me out” to adjust their budget so they could attempt to carry on. For the very first time in my life I was unemployed. So, I was widowed, unemployed, grieving, and in a lot of ways in a bad place. But Buddy always greeted me happily when I came home, and he listened hours on end to my words as I had a need to talk to someone.
I accepted a new job 
3000 miles away in the Washington DC area. I hired a moving company to pack my stuff and move it. So my main concern was how to get Buddy and me across the country. I briefly looked into airline travel for pets, but set that aside because it can be very inhumane if they are forced to place the dog in the cargo hold, and there are no advance guarantees about whether or not that would be required. Okay, no airplane ride for Buddy.
I think it was September 1st, 2008, when Buddy and I climbed into my VW Jetta and started a 5 day journey across the country. It was a very memorable trip. I can still remember clearly every different motel we stayed in, Buddy’s adventure in the new place, and getting through the night to have him ready to jump in the car and do it again. He was completely unaware of where we were going. He knew it was a long distance. And, he knew I needed a co-pilot to maintain my sanity. We actually had a very good trip.
When we arrived at Buddy’s new house in Virginia he was happy, ready to settle, and at peace with the new surroundings. He loved the nature trail that started at our property and went for miles down into the Virginia woods. He always found the Beaver dam interesting. He loved chasing the squirrels and barking at the birds. And he had no fear of larger animals, always wanting to make a deer his friend… something that never quite came together.
For me to move into a new setting with no family or friends present… no one aside from my fellow employees at work… was a huge step. It was hard. But even during those first few nights as I slept on an air mattress waiting for my belongings to arrive on the moving van, Buddy was always there. Happy, enthusiastic, and loving.
I love the prayer that goes something like this: “Lord, help me today to be half the man my dog thinks I am.”
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About a year after we moved to Virginia my new friend and her children would visit our house. Buddy loved visitors. Some of the first photos I have of Farima’s children are of them petting or snuggling with Buddy. He always welcomed company. And he was never slow to go for a walk.
I hired a dog walker during the first couple of years I was in Virginia because I couldn’t always get off work at lunchtime to walk Buddy and I couldn’t stand the thought of depriving Buddy of his daily romp. And every night when I came home from work Buddy greeted me with excitement, enthusiasm, and an admiration I rarely warranted.
When I was engaged and we bought a new house about 10 miles from where Buddy first lived in Virginia, he was again up to the challenge. The new house was much larger so he really had his work cut out for him… to guard the house from all intruders or abnormalities. He would bark or growl whenever someone approached the house, or when some noise or bump in the night sounded. He was a great alarm system.
He quickly adapted to having Farima’s chocolate lab Coco , and her adult cat Miss Kitty, sharing his living area. Still crate trained, Buddy spent every night at the foot of our bed. It was fascinating because putting Buddy into the crate was like ending his shift… taking him off duty where he no longer had to worry about protecting the whole house. He could get some rest.
As the years passed Coco passed away, and then Miss Kitty. Buddy missed them, it was clear. And Buddy had begun to show his age. In fact he became ill. We took him to the vet and she said he had diabetes. And he had it bad. That was a couple of years ago. The vet showed my wife Farima how to give Buddy insulin shots. Farima in turn taught a couple of our children how to give him shots. That, along with a special diet, gave Buddy two extra years in his life.
But alas, his diabetes continued to progress. In fact I believe he had developed other serious health ailments and he was mostly blind. A few weeks ago he began to be very sick. Eventually there were two occasions where he had seizures. He could not longer walk well, or go up and down the stairs. He was in bad shape. And I knew the inevitable had come.
Hope against hope we took him to the vet wishing for some simple diagnosis and a year or two more. But that wasn’t the case. She told us he was very uncomfortable, seriously ill, and that he wasn’t going to improve. The only humane thing was to say goodbye.
Buddy was ready. He quietly laid there soaking up every bit of loving and encouragement he got, knowing full well it was his time. And then he was gone.
I will never forget Buddy. He got me through some of the hardest years, and some of the happiest years of my life. He was always a faithful companion. He was indeed a good dog.
Oh, by the way… a few months before Buddy died he got himself a kitten. A little trouble-maker named Fuzz-bucket… er a Stinky… no… that’s not right. Her name is Tiger-Lilly (she is no lilly, believe me). Buddy and her became great friends and Fuzz-bucket hasn’t stopped looking for Buddy… hoping to find him in his crate or coming through the door from a long walk. I suppose it is up to her to carry on.
Buddy… Thank you. I miss you. Rest in Peace.