When you have dogs, you witness their uncomplaining acceptance of suffering, their bright desire to make the most of life in spite of the limitations of age and disease, their calm awareness of the approaching end when their final hours come. They accept death with a grace that I hope I will one day be brave enough to muster.”
― Dean Koontz,
I need to write something today that would boost my spirits. For the past few days, I have binge-watched, This Is Us.
I’m emotionally drained and completely cried out.
Because I have been focused on my dogs today–the next few days are filled with dog grooming appointments–what better way to take my mind in a different direction than to write about my dogs?
Bud is our oldest Lhasa Apso, turning eleven years old last January. We call him our Nebraska farm dog because those are his roots. He is the healthiest dog to ever grace our home. No matter how much his back hurts or his hind legs catch, he is always ready for his walk. He never ever allows us to sit anywhere alone. He’s not a lap dog, but he is usually close enough to have his nose on foot or in your shoe. He is 18 pounds of absolute devotion.
Bud is named for my Dad, whose nickname was Bud. This fact shoots up a warning flag–kinda like those annoying advertisements that pop up on your favorite websites! When you name someone or something after another important person in your life, be ready for a whole new level of “concern” when things are not going as usual.
Bud joined us after our youngest Lhasa, Jessie, died very unexpectedly. Most of the dogs in my life had lived very long lives. To lose Jessie at eight years of age took me completely off guard. I was lost.
Michael was grasping at ways to help me. He called and asked me to check the paper for puppies. In his opinion, the only way to help me was to call in the serious dog healers–otherwise known as puppies.
I grabbed the ad section of The Denver Post–this was eleven years ago–and searched. I found an ad that read: Three Lhasa Apso puppies for sale, two males, one female. The phone number was given with the note to ask for Vivian.
My heart stopped.
Vivian is NOT a common name. My Mom’s name was Vivian. Holding my breath, I called the number. Vivian told me she could send a picture of the only puppy she had left. If I was interested, I needed to let her know because she was bringing the other puppies to the Denver area that weekend.
I opened the email and fell in love with that handsome boy. His name had been decided the minute I began to talk with Vivian. He was Bud.
I love you.