Tribute to a Buddy

For those of you who remember, I once wrote an article about my little buddy, Buddy. He was a little fiest dog that I had ideas about turning into a squirrel dog. He was given to me by Leroy Benton of the Enon community. It turned out that Buddy was gun shy. Well, not really. He would follow me deer hunting and lay down under the stand and bark at every squirrel that moved. He wasn't scared of the gun, just the bang. Shoot once and Buddy was no more to be seen.

Buddy must have thought he was a cat. He lived like he had nine lives. He loved chasing cars. He used up his first life under an 18-wheeler. He was in the middle of the road when the truck came screaming down the highway. Terrorized, he squatted down and the truck passed harmlessly over him. Not too long after that he was chasing a car and paid no attention to the car following that one. The second car hit him and sent him down Hwy 29 like a bowling ball. He was laid up a couple of days with a severe case of road rash but suffered no permanent injury. I thought that would have taught him a lesson. I guess it did. From then on he would chase only the last car in a line.

Losing life number three was due to a confrontation with an animal of some sort, probably a coyote. He showed up around midnight with his throat torn open and could hardly move. Blood was everywhere. I patched up the hole as best I could. I figured if he lasted through the night I'd take him to the vet. But he started recovering so well so quickly, I never did. His throat healed and the only effect was he couldn't bark for about two weeks.

I was responsible for life number four. I was driving straight down the highway after leaving the house. Buddy was chasing after me, biting at my right front wheel. He must have stumbled for he ended up under the van. Again, no lasting injuries. He was stove up for a few days. He was soon back to chasing cars. Another car got life number five a couple of months ago. Still yet again, no serious injuries.

Buddy never met another dog he thought he couldn't whip. I never saw him start a fight but if another dog snarled at him, the battle was on. He was the smallest dog in the neighborhood and in every fight I witnessed, he ended up on his back with the larger dog standing over him. I could almost hear Buddy think, "OK big boy, I've got you right where I want you."

A couple of weeks ago Buddy came home with slobber all over him and limping pretty badly. I later learned two neighborhood dogs had ganged up on him. (Life #6) I guess he thought he had a little revenge coming for yesterday he went back for some more. He didn't come home that afternoon. The next morning my wife found him under the boat in the back yard. He couldn't get up. We scooped him up on a rug and covered him with towels warmed in the dryer.

He just lay there for about a half hour. Then with what looked like a smile on his face he died. We buried him in the back yard. With his penchant for defying all odds, I already had a plot picked out for him. I really thought a car would get him but I had it figured wrong.

It's really not the same walking out the door and him not there to greet me. And we are not the only ones who miss him. The whole neighborhood had adopted him and he would stop and visit while making his rounds. Like my neighbor Gene Harrison said, "We'll miss Buddy. He had become a Tanyard icon."

Buddy lived his life like he had something to prove. In the end, he proved he wasn't a cat.