What kind of a person gives away her dog? The one she raised from a pup, who rode in the car with his arm on her shoulder like a giant canine parrot. The one who covered her face with kisses. The one who she insisted didn’t smell like dog.
Me, I guess.
I also gave away a peeing cat…but that is another story.
Buckley, named for Jeff of the soulful voice and youthful drowning, was my second attempt to get a guy.
The first was building a bar, but it turns out the guys you meet at 1am on a Wednesday aren’t the type you want to have kids with. So I decided to get a dog and head to the dog park at the exact time that someone with a day job would be there.
Our dogs fell in love first. Then Steve and I did. Finally we began to love one another’s dogs. For a while we were a happy fuzzy family.
Buckley earned the nickname of “fun police.” If Steve and I laughed too loudly, brought home a balloon (don’t tease…balloons are very uplifting), danced, sang, or jumped Buckley barked and barked…and barked. Although he wanted us to sit still and shut up HE wanted to fun and frolic. He would submarine his nose in the snow, hinge with pleasure at a greeting and jump and twirl in the air when he ran towards Steve’s (I mean our) Saint Bernard.
Then came the boys. They were 17 months apart. From the time they were old enough to move they were like puppies themselves, tumbling and tangled, shrieking and swinging, dancing and rolling balls. Buckley wanted none of that. It was his job to keep those kids still and he was a dedicated worker. The real problem was the birthday parties. Do you know what is a main feature of birthday parties? Balloons. Do you know how long and hard a dog needs to bark at the balloons to protect his family? Days. Exhausting.
So after a bit we began to dog share. We had a single friend who spent time outdoors and worked in a dog friendly office. It started with dog sitting and stretched to a week at a time. Then we went to a week on and a week off. Finally he was coming to us just for a visit. He would hinge and wag with pleasure as soon as he turned to our street, but then again he did the same when he went to his other house. I waffled between feeling leaden with guilt and able to rationalize our arrangement.
Eventually our friend was no longer single. Then he called to say he was moving to NYC. I had my heart in my throat wondering which way this would go. Would he want to take Buckley or leave him? With a thud of guilt and grief I realized I wanted him to go. This turned out to be a good thing, because that is what our friend wanted as well.
After a few years Buckley’s family of three returned and my guilt had faded. He was loved. He was loving.
Today I got the text I have been dreading for 13 years. Buckley is in surgery. It doesn’t look good. Steve happens to be back in Vermont. Hopefully he will visit my, his, our dog and not have to say goodbye.
We already did that…and it was for the best that time. My dear Buckley, thank you for being my family and giving me my family, thank you for moving on with grace and brining love to Erik and Kortnee, and here is hoping wherever you wake up there will be lots of fun to police.