She was old enough to understand that the big trip to Texas from our little Northern New York home was not for pleasure.
At age one, she had become the youngest person in medical history to have a full spinal fusion.
Age age two, she had become Patient #98 in the VEPTR program. We had traveled to San Antonio that summer for her first titanium rib installation on her left side. An 8 hour surgery; 7 days in a post op induced coma; 3 weeks in hospital recovery; 8 weeks at home recovery... and now, we were headed back for installation on her right side.
So... I bribed her with A Puppy. "When we get back from Texas, I will get you a puppy".
It seemed a small trade for a big ordeal.
One of my dance families at the time had just brought home a small Cairn Terrier from a local breeder. He didn't shed. He was cute and Toto loveable. I spoke with them, got a phone number and made the call.
This is how our Buddy came to be "ours". We brought him home and began the name game. Madi was determined he would be Bert (as in Ernie and Bert). I argued that I was NOT standing in our front yard and yelling "BERT" for him to return to our yard. "Ernie"? I suggested. No. He didn't "look like and Ernie". She was stuck on the letter "B". I racked my brain. "Buddy?" I asked. "Buddy!" She exclaimed. Buddy he was.
He was a fluff of fun. Energetic and a bit on the naughty side. I had always had dogs, but never a terrier. I quickly discovered that this terrier took mischief to an all new level. Digging, biting and destroying were his top three activities. Just when I thought I simply couldn't deal with him, he would answer Madi's little "Here, Buddy. Here, Buddy Boy" and belly crawl to her side; oh-so-gently nuzzling her lap and placing his head under her little hand. His adoring eyes would roll up to her sweet face and... I loved him. So much.
We were living in our home in Croghan. Behind our fence was farm field of cows. Buddy's favorite activity was digging his way under our fence to chase the cows. I would stand at the fence and futilely yell at him to "COME". I was terrified that a cow would trample him. He, however, ran blissfully in and out of their hooves. I swear, he was smiling.
I would leave him in the yard for a hot minute while I toweled Madi up and took her inside. When I returned, he would inevitably be paddling around in her little plastic pool, or digging in her sand box, or pulling up my flowers. Young Buddy was a never ending bundle of energy.
When we moved in with my then-boyfriend, Buddy continued his adventures. Hunting down woodchucks and engaging them in scary arguments in a new back yard, hurling himself at the gate as very large dogs lunged back, and causing general mayhem. Every time I was at my wits end, he would snuggle up to Madi and love on her.... and I would, in turn, love him more.
When we moved again, something in the new house or yard triggered allergies for Buddy. He lost his hair and became "naked dog". I tried everything. Medicines, holistic treatments, baths and more. He just never became his handsome self again. Although he could have won Ugly Dog contests, to Madi and I he remained the young stud of a terrier.
Recently, my long term relationship ended and Madi and I moved once more. In the new home, Buddy flourished. He got a great deal of hair back. He was just "happy". He was 14 in dog years. Ancient in people years. He loved to cuddle in his bed and would bark (several times a day and night) for me or Madi to come and cover him up with his favorite flannel blanket.
Towards the end, he would emit a high pitched whine up to 7 times each night for me to come in and cover him up. I would run my fingers through his wayward tuft of hair on top of his old man head and pat his soft, silky ears.... often, I would get on my knees and eskimo kiss his wet little nose. There is just nothing sweeter than an old dog who loves you unconditionally.
Last Thursday, I realized that Buddy's breathing was becoming labored. Friday morning, we were to be off bright and early for Madi's college auditions 7 hours away. "No, Buddy" I thought... "not now. not ever"...
Madi went to bed around 11 pm that night. By midnight, I called her down to say her good-byes. We spent the night sitting sentinel by our sweet boy's side. We told him we loved him. We told him it was okay to let go. We told him we would never, ever forget him.
In the morning, we faced the fact that his level of pain was unbearable for all three of us. One more time, I swaddled him in his flannel blanket. I carried him out for one last car ride. Madi held him tenderly in her arms and we drove in silence to the Veterinarians. Time and time again, Madi thanked Buddy for being her first Best Friend. Her best Best Friend. Every time, little shards of my heart exploded in pain.
He didn't go easy. When he finally gave in, his ear was cocked to Madi's voice for one more "I love you, Buddy Boy" and his eyes were glued to her face... even though they had long ago lost sight.
A part of our hearts died that day. We returned home, packed the car, and headed on our journey to build Madi's future. A future without her First Best Friend, but one filled with memories of the past and the joy that a tiny terrier named Buddy brought us.
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