Buddy

Buddy the black lab.  My parent’s older of two black labs.  Mom named Buddy shortly after he came to live with us.  Why "Buddy" I asked?  "Because he's your father's new buddy."  And the name was set.  

One afternoon while I was reading, Buddy comes up to me and says, “My name is Roberto”. 

I said “Bobby for short?” He laughed. 

“No – just Roberto”.  He thought Bobby sounded too close to an English police person and he was more outlaw, than law enforcement.  I call him Roberto when it's just the two of us and this makes him immensely happy. 

Buddy came hardwired, as many rescues do, with a fear response.  He barks like mad at men.  He loves women, especially the quiet, gentle ones.  He loves the game of fetch but plays the variation called "keep away".  Darby plays the “I’ll chase it down but you fetch” variety.  I introduced Buddy to a new toy - the jolly ball.  The jolly ball is a hard plastic ball with five big cut out circles, with a smaller rubber ball inside.  The jolly ball is virtually indestructible and floats in the pool.  A dog carries the jolly ball around by placing his lower part of his mouth in the jolly ball hole and biting down.  It takes a little getting used to.  Zach loves to make Buddy laugh by placing the jolly ball on his nose, resembling a canine clown.  

In the past few weeks Buddy has embraced his inner puppy and adopted me as his favorite new pack mate.  He no longer stands behind Zach waiting for the morning loving.  He has brought me Zach’s stuffed animals and ropes to throw, as if to say “throw this for Zach and I’ll help him chase it”.  And twice now, while I’ve been quietly crying, worrying about the things I can’t control and can’t let go of, he has circled around me in my chair and placed his head in my lap.  Buddy, in a word, has become my buddy. 

Last night, he reminded me it was ok to look for the fun and joy in the small, every day moments and set the fear aside.  He grabbed a dirty dish towel from the laundry room, and resembling his ever present younger puppy brother, stuck his butt in the air and front paws on the floor and said, “Come on!”  And we played. 

Thanks Buddy. 

Waiting

Darby sits on the porch, waiting.   I often wonder, and at times I'm quite sure, she's waiting for Dinah to appear.  Dinah is nearby but won't be seen, having crossed the rainbow bridge last August. 

My Mama is not feeling her best so I am hanging out with her in this sticky, wet, tropical place of my youth.  I have lived longer in South Florida than any other place I've been.  

Washington is my new home but I haven't really been able to become good friends yet.  In Washington, we live in a rural community on the far Eastern side, almost in Idaho.  They don't say "y'all" in Washington, or Iowa, for that matter.  They don't understand grits or biscuits.  They are overflowing with beautiful mountains and evergreens.  I find my introverted self completely and utterly happy in this quiet part of the world where the speed limit of the main road through town is twenty-five and there is homemade maple-nut ice cream at the corner drug store.

  

My Mama's house, where I spend most of my time these days, has two black labs (Zach and Buddy), my Dad and a brother.  After a year of living this long distance life, traveling back to see my pack about once a month, and in the shadow of the pandemic, we are trying to find the newest normal.  I keep looking for the glass half full, writing down what I'm thankful for and moving forward.  Some days I don't believe what I write.  Some days, when Mom has has a bad day, I pretend all is well in the hopes that it will be. 

That is the latest from the Iowa Girls and Florida Dogs.  More on Zach, Buddy and my glorious, far away Darby in the next installments.