Mr. Bud

“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn’t a dog.” – Charles M Schulz (cartoonist, “Peanuts”)

For nearly 15 years Bud’s been beside me.

Actually, he was the ultimate diplomate. He shared his time between both Michael and me.

You never had to look far because he was beside one of us–always.

Until today.

I pretty much hate today.

Even though I know it was time to say good bye, I was grabbing at excuses.

Ask anyone, I am very very bad at good-byes.

I’d specifically asked Bud to give me a sign when he was ready. I knew he’d hang with us as long as we needed him to be here. I was holding on with all of my might, pulling out anything I could to extend his stay. Looking back, I think he’d been giving me subtle messages for some time. I had been very successful at finding a way to excuse each one.

Last night he declared himself LOUD and CLEAR. As I was getting his dinner ready he began to show signs of having a stroke.

Yup. I finally hear you, Mr. Bud.

Some important information to share with all my other dog guardians out there–if you think your dog is having some type of a vascular event, give them a baby aspirin. Maybe because I gave it to him on an empty stomach, he reacted very positively within a few minutes.

Ah–my unconvinced mind said–is this the fix? Can I hold on to him a little longer?

His eyes said very simply, no.

So…the puppy who raced around so fast in the house the only way for him to stop was to ram into the couch was telling me it was time. The puppy who could chew up dozens of pine cones and several remote controls was telling me it was time. The puppy who did not have time to take the stairs any other way but to jump from the highest point was telling me to listen. The dog who had been beside me since 2006 was ready.

He’d been tolerant of Pearl and her elderly synchronicities, befriended Gracie, trained Duffy, controlled Ruby, house trained both Abby and Eli was telling me his job was complete.

I was fortunate to be with him. Both my vet and his staff are so empathetic. I was looking into his eyes as he left this world heading up to play ball with all his friends in heaven. You all better be ready because the champion ball player has arrived.

As I sat in my car getting myself together for the drive home, the sun broke through the clouds and a strong beam of light came across my face for just a few seconds. It warmed my soul.

As always, The Bud was taking care of me and letting me know he had arrived.

I figured my sister, Beth, was there waiting for him because she had sent a sign as well when she got to heaven by way of a wonderful rainbow. Yes, Bethie told him that would definitely get my attention because she knew I was a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

Abby and Eli are very quiet. I showed them his collar and they smelled it and started looking everywhere for him. I think they now know he’s moved on but will be monitoring their fights just like always.

I am heartbroken but so thankful he is no longer suffering.

I love you and will miss you every single day.

I am…

B…simply being.

~Peace~

One Reply to “Mr. Bud”

  1. So sorry for your loss.  It is so hard for us humans to actually do the final kindness, even when they tell us, because we are selfish. We want more time, more snuggles, more wet nose kisses.  And, as we age, it’s harder for us to let go–could this be the “last” dog or cat that we bring home?  That means that we are also getting older and not willing or able to meet the demands of a new pet.  We still have the ones we have.  Like everyone else, I don’t want to outlive my children or pets–I’m too selfish and want them close.  Again, I am so sorry for your  loss.  Heaven is full of our pets and friends and families.  Maybe they are playing and visiting together.  I rally hope so.  

    Like

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