Buddy

                                                                   

                                                                             Buddy

                                                       Buddy with his pack; stronger days.

 

When I first met Buddy he lived outside and had very little human interaction except at meal times, walking from car into the house and on hikes.  He preferred being outside no matter the weather.  He had places where he liked to hang out when it was raining or when the wind was howling. Even in subzero weather, it was nearly impossible to coax him inside.

 

A lot has changed since then.

Buddy is inside today, like most days, and is lying at my feet, sleeping in the sun on his XXL dog bed.

If I get up to fix some tea he whines at me.

If I stop petting him he whines, eyes pleading.

Last night I gathered my feather bed and slept on the floor with him.  We all did, Hanna, Po, Buddy and I, all on the floor in a pack.  I kept my hand under Buddy’s chin because if I pulled it away he began to pant.

 

Buddy is dying.

 

It started several years ago, the decline of this 100 pound dog-teddy bear.  He blew out a knee jumping out of the truck after a day long hike.  We knew it happened because when he landed he let out a yelp and he’s been limping ever since.  The vet said he was not a good candidate for surgery because of his size but we could fly in a vet from Tucson who would be willing to try.  Cost of the whole procedure: $10,000.  We didn’t have it done.  So the vet recommended limiting Buddy’s activities, “for the rest of his life”and keeping him on a lead every time we walked him.

 

That lasted two weeks.

 

Buddy has hiked most of the Colorado Trail (CT), some of The Grand Enchantment Trail (GET), and, thrice, all of the Manzano Crest Trail here in New Mexico.  We took biweekly day-hikes together for years.  We never used a leash.  Buddy didn’t require it.  He was extremely well trained.  When told, “back,” he would come back or stop and wait for us to catch up.  With a hand gesture he would walk at our side.  He carried his own water and food and that of his hiking dog companions in his own pack. He was a strong, gentle, independent giant. For him, walking on lead, once his limp was less pronounced was not an option. 

 

About a year later, after his right knee had healed and his limp, while still there, was significantly reduced, he blew out his left knee.  Again we put him on his lead for a couple of weeks but we did not prevent him from being a dog, we did not take away his favorite activity, walking.  Every morning and every evening we took the dogs on a one mile walk but they did not get to go on hikes anymore.  Because it would have been torture for Buddy had we brought the other dogs with us and left him at home, all of them stayed behind while the humans packed up and took off to the Manzanos or The Quebradas. 

 

That was five years ago, the day Buddy’s hiking ended.  He was ten years old.

 

In early December 2020. Katheryn and Roy invited us to go hiking with them and their two dogs, Carrie Underwood and Cowboy. Carrie Underwood and Cowboy are a pair of cattle dogs that I have taken care of when Roy and Katheryn go out of town.  The four dogs, Carrie, Cowboy, Buddy and Po had all met before and got along quite well (Po and Carrie are somewhat of an item) but Hanna had not yet been introduced.  A short hike on Chupadera Mesa seemed like a good way to see how Hanna and the others would get along.  The ground was level so the walk would not be any more strenuous for Buddy than what we did around my house and it would be full of new sites and smells, just like the old days of Super Buddy Hiker Dog.  Because I wasn’t sure how Hanna would be off leash with other dogs I kept her on lead. The short hike went wonderfully so we got together again before the year’s end.

 

On New Year’s Day 2021 I decided to renew the New Year’s Day hike tradition established eight years earlier. I loaded the dogs into the truck (Buddy uses a ramp) and off we went to a spot not far from home where we had, years earlier, been several times before. It’s an ancient ruin site on BLM land where I can drive close in and walk the dogs on fairly level ground.  Again, I didn’t expect the walk would be much longer than what we normally do near my home and we had all day so we could take it slowly.  Buddy was so excited when he saw me loading my pack.  He knew what that meant. He whined and paced until I finally loaded everyone up. On the road he looked over my shoulder out the windshield happily panting.  “This is the life.”  On this walk, with only my three dogs, Hanna was off lead and did fantastically.  Buddy did a great job helping her to learn how to hike by our rules. On a hike with me, a dog’s main job is to, “Come when you are called.”

 

We had a great day and, while Buddy was limping more than usual afterward, I was happy we got him on the trail again.  Carpe diem.  At 15 years old, it was certain that our time together was limited.  I wanted to let Buddy have a few more experiences doing his favorite thing in the world.  A few days rest would see him back to normal, or almost normal, his new normal.

 

A week later we took a “hike” with Silke.  We strolled about a mile on level ground not far from the house in Cibola National Forest where there is a beautiful arroyo, lined in Abó sandstone.  The day was gorgeous with no wind and a bright blue sky.  The dogs had a great time wandering the road and sniffing the trees. When the walk was done, Buddy had a rough last ramp assist into the truck.  It was to be his last hike and the last time he would use the loading ramp.

 

Three days ago after our morning walk I looked into Buddy’s eyes and noticed something unusual in his look. He was in pain.

 

“Hey Bud,” I said to him, “looks like you are struggling.”  I took him by the collar and led him through the gate. “You know,” I continued, “you don’t have to keep doing this.  I see you’re in pain. You’re tired.  You’re really old for such a big guy.”   I led him over to his water bucket, his daily ritual after our walks, and continued to speak softly to him.  “You don’t have to stay here.  It’s ok if you want to cross over.  I’ll listen to you.”  I headed toward the house and he stayed behind, staring after me.  Before I went inside I turned back and sized him up. I walked back to him and bent down to his level, took his jowls in my hands and looked directly into his eyes. I repeated gently, “I will listen to you. I’m a good listener.” Before I sat down for tea I gave him an extra pain pill.

 

The next morning Buddy was whining. I got up from bed and went downstairs to him.  He was having a hard time getting up. I helped him to his feet and saw immediately that he could barely walk. Buddy’s left front leg was beginning to fail. He had a hard time getting up. He had a hard time lying down.  He stood in the middle of the room panting, head hung low, back hunched.

 

Buddy had made his decision.  Clear as day he was telling me what he wanted.  I gave him extra pain medication and called the vet.

 

She’s coming this evening. It was the soonest she could get to us. The timing was right because we got to prepare.  We are coming to terms with the inevitable, all of us are, the dogs and I.

 

There’s a big hole out back that I finished digging for Buddy yesterday just as the sun was setting. For years I have been draining gray water into that hole so the soil was soft and the small hole easy to enlarge. While the dogs awaited dinner inside I dug a hole for Buddy.

 

He is still resting at my feet as I finish writing. He is breathing deep and measured. He hasn’t moved a muscle since I sat down beside him with my IPad.  I am afraid to get up because he will want to rise with me. Then it will take an hour or so to get him comfortable again. I think it’s almost as hard on me as it is on him, to see his discomfort and not be able to do anything about it. But I’m probably just feeling sorry for myself.  It’s way harder on him than it is on me. 

 

“Hey Buddy,” I told him this morning while we were lying on the floor and he was panting and restless, unable to get comfortable, “it’s going to be okay. I’m right here for you now and when Brenda comes tonight we are going to help you over the Rainbow Bridge.”   Then I added, as addition reassurance, “and Pepper and Trigo and Billy will be on the other side waiting for you.”

 

Buddy laid down his head and sighed.

UPDATE: at approximately 6:45 PM on January 21, 2021 Buddy crossed over The Rainbow Bridge. It was very peaceful. Dr. Mack did an excellent job. Buddy was a trooper. And Po and Hanna were right there with us, saying good-bye, one last time.

                                                        Buddy and Hanna at an overlook.

                                                                  Buddy on the CDT/CT

                                                        Buddy on his BLM adventure.