Thanks to the coolness of Mama Kat, the rest of us bloggers get to do something we really like....type type tippity type type. Head on over, have some fun and spill your guts.
The prompt I'm choosing today is #1 Tell us about a stray animal you took in.
It's hard to talk about a life. The measure of a living being just doesn't add up as much on paper or virtual slabs of print as they meant to the people who knew them. Plus, there is a part of that being that will never be known...the things and memories that are only truly theirs and no one else's.
Such is the case with a young part Lhasa Apso. It was the very early nineties and I had come home from college to notice that my Dad had taken in a golden retriever named Jed from a citified cousin. Jed enjoyed running around, but the simple fact was he was lonely. The only other dog on the place was a poodle named Chalice. Jed was a great dog with a friendly disposition, but the poodle was a bitch, in more ways than one. Let's just say she had a diva personality that only her family could love.
Well, early one morning a black and white Lhasa Apsoish dog decided to change this. He snuck into the fence and put himself in the backyard with Jed. My dad walked out and looked a little quizzically at the little dog with matted hair with burrs all over him. I know some animal lovers will hate this next statement, but it is important for anyone to understand that my dad does NOT like strays on the place. A strange dog can bring a lot of unexpected problems such as rabies and a bad attitude that is bad for the people, other animals, and the livestock. General procedure is run 'em off or shoot 'em.
But, Jed seemed happy with the new visitor, so dad let the status quo alone. He put out the normal amount of food for Jed and watched as Jed allowed this new dog to eat. There was no threat or growling or anything. So, dad, decided to let this dog be Jed's Buddy...and that was his name...Buddy.
Over the next several months, Buddy and Jed grew in friendship and my dad took out each and everyone of the burrs and now we had three dogs....the inside Diva and the outside compadres. It's always strange, but life has a way of changing a happy situation and the change would be that Jed would finally die. The inside diva, Chalice, was also at an advanced age of 13 with cancer spots all over her body. So, my dad decided that Buddy would be the 'transitional' dog and allowed him to move inside with the inside diva. He went to all the hair appointments Chalice went to. (Did I mention she was a diva that had to have her nails and hair done twice a month?)
The first time, Buddy or Bud-Bud as we had gotten to call him went to hair dresser for himself, they made the mistake of putting a nice red bow on his head. He took care of that nagging problem as planted his face in the mud and walked like a four legged wheelbarrow until the bow detached itself from his noggin...much to my mom's chagrin.
We noticed a lot about Buddy in that time as a house dog that we never knew. For instance he had a deathly fear of thunder and lightening, which makes his time outside and on the lamb more amazing. He also really was scared of us getting mad at some of his dog antics. If he didn't quite make it to the outside before the floodgates left his body, he would whimper and show true remorse. We decided that some one must've left him on the side of the road after abusing him. It was decided that punishment for this dog would be quiet scolding as the rest was considered too harsh for his quiet sensibilities.
In three years of the Bud Bud inside life, Chalice died. She was 16 and the house was slightly distraught. It would've been worse if we didn't have a middle aged black and white replacement who had a tendency to just make you laugh. He wasn't the usual hyper fun dog, but more of a speed bump on the carpet that you might trip over. The dog liked his sleep. His under bite and sad eyes gave you a feeling that he was suffering from a rather large and lengthy hangover. Four years before, he was probably close to getting shot. Now, he was the 'king' of the casa.
As I was in my real adult years, I would visit home and Bud was my dog. He would give me three minutes of pure happiness, tail wagging, head butting joy before retiring for the nap to recuperate from this activity. He would sleep with me whenever dad went to work. He would stay up with me to the whee hours of the morning. Okay, he would sleep on the top of the couch as I would surf the web, IM friends, or watch movies. At one point he fell so dead asleep that he actually fell of the couch between it and the wall. The next night he ran (which was a rarity) and got all the way to the couch...stopped...then backed up and laid on the floor staring accusatory at the couch.
Bud Bud died at home at either a very advanced age or six months older than 9. He started out his life as a dog that was unwanted and abused...he ended up revered and loved even almost a decade after his passing by, not just me, but all that knew him.
For a pet, can there be any better legacy?