Along Came Buddy

"Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love, 

they depart to teach us about loss. A new dog never replaces and old dog; 

it merely expand the heart."

Erica Jong

[Quite unexpectedly Suzi’s back and hind legs gave way. We rushed her to the emergency vet who did what emergency vets do — x-rays, pain meds, and charge an arm and a leg. In that situation, with no hesitation on my part, the arm and leg was exchanged for Care Credit. We left her overnight but when we returned the next morning, she had not improved. John and Jack and I cried as the vet quietly and lovingly ended Suzi’s pain. We left swearing we’d never get another dog. It just hurts too much to say goodbye.]

After a few months went by, each of us in our own way came to grips with losing Suzi. We gradually started talking about dogs again. We scanned Craig’s List for giveaways, traveled out of our way to pass by the Humane Society. We brought home a couple of adult dogs that didn’t work out. One bit the mailman. The other bit Maizey. Not good omens.

Welcome to our world, Tucker from Hoboken

You need a lab,” advised John. He backed up his suggestion with an ad for Yellow Lab puppies. Because Jack had been diagnosed with Alzheimers Disease,* we hoped to be able to train a puppy as a service dog. The timing was right. After a nod of approval, a phone call and a trip to GA, 8 week old “Tucker” came into our lives. On paper Tucker might belong to Jack, but we all fell instantly in love with a few pounds of white fur and feet that foreshadowed a big dog. Even Maizey. Jack changed Tucker’s name to My Buddy Boy, Buddy for short. 

As Buddy grew we began to wonder about his heritage. He’s got some yellow lab in him for sure, some boxer, perhaps, and unquestionably more than a little Georgia Bulldog. How could he not? He was born in Hoboken, GA, small town with a population of 528 people just NW of Brunswick. It’s a wonder he was named “Tucker” not Billy Bob.

In a twist of fate that could be considered Divine Intervention, Buddy began to look like Maizey. What are the chances? Twins, born by different mothers, in different states, two years apart? They are almost the same size, Buddy’s stockier. Webbed feet and the maize colored streak running down their backs is all either has to show of their Labrador heritage.  Maizey’s bark is a high-pitched thing that rattles the wine glasses. Buddy’s baby bark turned into a deep, bass WOOF. But they share the same enthusiasm for barking. 

Like human siblings Buddy and Maizey argue over toys, pout when they are told no, steal each other’s cookies. They sniff each other’s behind and clean each other’s ears. They've jointly declared dibs on the living room couch.They never turn down a ride in the car or an opportunity to chase the cats. Buddy was with us for less than 24 hours when he got his first lesson in cats — a claw to the left eye. Luckily no damage was done. Maizey, who has a few scars to show for it, has since taught Buddy how to get up close and personal with the cat by keeping his eyes closed. 


Buddy is two now. Elizabeth, the trainer from PetSmart, says he's an adult. That’s kind of hard to believe. He still carries his “lala” around, suckles it to fall asleep, whines (instead of asking nicely) to go out, jealously demands whatever attention Maizey gets and hides behind our legs if a stranger approaches. This action is now accompanied by the aforementioned WOOF! which may be all bluff, but sends mixed messages.

While it doesn’t slow down the game of tug go war the two dogs play with a well-worn, scraggily rope, I believe Buddy is aware something Maizey is sick. I see him sniffing her when she’s asleep. Could he be checking to make sure she’s still breathing like I do? I doubt he realizes that the charcoal broiled steak that’s added to his dinner every night is due to John sharing Maizey’s she’s-sick-so-she-can-have-whatever-she-wants diet. He does, however, sit patiently as Maizey is given her nightly dose of tramadol-laced cheese.  It’s hard to say no to his sad brown eyes and drool dripping jowls. 

One piece of cheese for Maizey. One for Buddy. One for Maizey. One for Buddy.

For all their extra sensory perception, in a dog’s brain extra cheese might just be the only good thing that comes from your best friend having cancer.

* Jack has since been told the ALZ diagnosis was incorrect. Buddy would never have made it as a service dog. Apparently we failed to socialize him enough, thus the scaredy dog persona.