Buster

 

If there has been a consistent hero in my writing, it is a large mutt name Buster. A yellow lab-plus, this fellow was my closest companion for my nearly six years in Redding. He was a significant factor in my moving up there; I probably would have anyway, for Linda, but it was his warmth, humor and understanding that decided the relocation for me. And it was his companionship that made the sentence manageable.

An email Monday afternoon informed me that he had made his last trip, to the vet. On Saturday, he had let go all over Linda’s new living room rug. There was blood in his stools and urine. On Sunday, he was shaking as if with fever. This was reported to me by our friend and neighbor who cleaned up after him. She used a board as a ramp to get this 105+-pound creature into her car. She couldn’t stay with him for the shot.

He was falling apart on the inside, and probably welcomed the relief. I think he understood what was happening and didn’t mind being alone, but I wish I could have been with him, to say thank you in the final moments for his unflagging friendship, patience and grace. He was fourteen or so, and it was time, but that doesn’t make it a whole lot easier.

Buster had dignity. A gentle giant, his tail could clear a coffee table, but he never did. He knew his space and rarely got things wrong.

When I drove up to Redding last Tuesday to retrieve my belongings, this half-blind dawg roused himself from his supinity, and squinting across the driveway, he probably recognized the sound of my car. I opened the door and when I called to him, he wagged his tail so hard his whole body wagged, and he beamed his happy-again, open-mouth smile. He had waited for me to come back, to say goodbye.

That afternoon, he was constantly by my side. I rubbed his head around his ears; he always liked that. And that night, as usual, he slept by my side of the bed. His breathing was labored, but he slept. The next morning, he watched the loading of the truck. He knew what was happening. There was nothing he could do to fix it. He smiled and wagged because that’s who he was. Selfless, generous and kind.

Of course I knew this was coming -- I was surprised that he lasted this long -- but it doesn’t help to staunch the tears. To some he was only a dog, but for those who knew him, he was an old soul of good character and remarkable spirit. He will forever live in my heart, a gracious nudge to be more loving.

And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.

 

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