RIP Buddy

I’m the newest member of the dead dog club. Well, with 6+ billion people in the world I’m probably not the newest member, but a member none the less. It’s a club that every dog owner eventually pays dues to whether you want admission or not. That being said I don’t believe in mourning the loss - so let’s celebrate the life.

I loved him like a brother. Maybe as much as a human can love an animal without crossing some unwritten laws. I didn’t write him into a will and never forced him to wear clothes like a jackass while he looked ashamed.

We had a lot in common. I learned my eyebrow raising techniques from him. We both loved a little chaos, mayhem and steak. When my dad was getting remarried we had a big barbeque. The house was packed with people who had never met Buddy. They didn’t know his styles and they didn’t know his ways. A lot of Italian-Americans were present and naturally a lot of red wine was being consumed. A perfect opportunity for Buddy’s greatest punk move (I won’t say I didn’t help hone this skill). Buddy loved attention and he had charisma. People wanted to rub his head, scratch behind his ears, etc and he didn’t shy away from the love. However, if you just gave him a pat and a kind word he would take matters into his own hands and use his nose to pop your hand back onto his head. He was both persistent and accurate. Now if you aren’t holding a glass of red wine this is cute and the result is that your hand is again petting the clever dog, but if you are holding some wine then you’ve just spilled red wine all over your Docker's flat fronts. Buddy took down between four and six bogeys that day.

When I left for Albania my dog was 14+ years old (82 in dog years) and I didn’t expect to see him again. My first journal entry before I left the states spoke to this topic as I tried a mental experiment to prepare for the very real possibility of losing family while I was away. I posited that it’s a family tradition to leave home. My grandfather left Norway when he was 16 and never saw his parents again. My father left home and I too would go overseas. I’m irrationally comforted and proud by the thought that travel and adventure is in Steinnes blood and that when we’ve had our fill we settle down into stationary lives of moderation. Despite his bestial bloodline, Buddy fit into this myth. He was a hell raiser in his youth and tolerant in old age and I think that’s a wise choice for dog or man.

I met Buddy at the pound and it was clear he had been abused by his previous owner. When he was still new to the family he would cower and shrink after any sudden movement or if you raised your hand above your head. He didn’t bark for a few months and we thought he might be mute because he would open his mouth and do everything that dogs do when they bark except make noise. Buddy got over whatever trauma he had pretty quickly, but remained suspicious of people he didn’t see regularly. He was a happy dog and smiled a lot. He was bashful when defecating and embarrassed when being bathed. He loved water like all Labradors, but only if it was his choice to get wet. He waited until the family sat down to dinner to eat from his bowl. He could open doors with handles and knew how to unlock the sliding glass door for me with his nose when I came home from school. He lived life under the adage it is easier to ask forgiveness than ask permission. He was the freest dog in the neighborhood and often took advantage of other dogs' subjugation to chains to steal their toys and bones. He displayed his discipline and loyalty by accepting and carrying out orders issued within the walls of the home and his freedom by disobeying every command once outside. Buddy was a good dog and he had a helluva run.

Buddy lived most of his life in the country where he could barnstorm, sit in the stream, chase cats, herd loose goats, swim in the pond, go where he wanted, kill chickens and scare children. I could write volumes about Buddy, his exploits and the joy he brought, but all the layperson really needs to know is this: Buddy gave 15 years of unconditional love to anyone who patted him on the head and that’s more than most people are willing to give and for far less in return.