In 2009 I wasn’t looking for a new dog. I already had one dog and though I usually liked having two dogs so they could keep each other company I couldn’t see bringing a new dog into the unstable home life I was living in. I was in an abusive relationship and slowly losing myself.
But my friend Maryann kept surfacing a flyer for a two year old black lab/beagle mix that someone at her work was trying to rehome. The ad said that he walked well on a leash, loved to play fetch and came when called (usually). She told me that the dog was part of a litter that the current owner’s daughter’s dog had. The daughter had kept the puppy, named it Buster and for the first 6 months Buster was part of the young family, an inside dog. After he grew and became a rambunctious 30 pound boy he was relegated to a chain in the yard. When Buster was about a year the man took the dog from the daughter saying that was no way to treat a dog. Buster started his promising new life and went running every day with his new owner. Then the owner took on new duties at work that required a lot of travel. So Buster was at the mercy of the man’s wife for most of his time. She wasn’t a dog person and when her husband was out of town she liked to spend evenings with friends. Buster was spending the work day in a crate, slept the night in a crate and was in the crate when she went off with friends. Another bad situation and the couple tried to remedy it by finding a new home.
One spring day Maryann called me desperate that Buster was heading to a local shelter, Wanderer’s Rest that weekend because the couple was heading to the ADK for the weekend and didn’t want to take him with them so they were giving up on finding that home. I and my boyfriend were headed to NYC that weekend. Maryann was staying at our house to dog and cat sit for us. I caved in. Ok, I’ll take him. She brought Buster with her to our house and introduced him to my dog Mandy. Maryann left before we returned and as planned put Buster into a big dog crate in the basement. When we walked in the door that Sunday night Buster was in the kitchen and leery of these new arrivals in this house. He had busted out of the big dog crate by relentlessly pulling a motorcycle cover that was sitting on top of the crate in through the bars. The force he used pulling the cover in through the bars was too much for the crate, it collapsed and he was free with a few scratches. The cover was wedged in so tight between the bars it took us quite an effort to free it.
Buster never went into a crate again.
I quickly learned that Buster didn’t know how to ask to go outside to pee. Thankfully he was a fast learner and after keeping him leashed to me for a few days of intense training he was asking to go outside to pee. Though throughout his life he wasn’t shy about peeing in the house if he couldn’t get outside.
Buster was a smart guy who loved his food. If there as anything that resembled food available or if he could get it with a little work he ate it. Mandy could no longer have her bowl of food out all day to nibble on, scheduled meal times were established. The pile of rawhide bones that Mandy had licked or eaten the best parts of then ignored became a source of planning for Buster. He couldn’t eat them all at once so each bone was carefully hidden around the house. Some behind furniture, others protruding from couch cushions and yet others placed under blankets or the dog bed. Buster could be observed performing regular inventories of the bones until he had eaten his way thorough the entire stash.
Buster was an escape artist who learned to open gates and dig under fences. He was a fun loving dog who enjoyed playing chase with Mandy but fetch was his favorite pastime and you couldn’t be in the yard without a ball or two being dropped at your feet to throw. His exceptional nose and appetite often got Buster into trouble but one time his nose helped us locate George my formerly feral cat. George went missing one day though he never went outside. I searched the house from top to bottom and in every crevasse. George frequently hung out in the drop ceiling and I systematically removed every tile looking for him. No George. So I asked Buster very excitedly over and over, ‘Where’s Georgie? Where’s Georgie?” Buster led me to the electric corner fireplace/stove in our basement. I couldn’t believe that George might be in there but my boyfriend dismantled it and we found George underneath the platform that the stove sat on. I’m not sure he could have gotten out of there, but maybe he could have.
During that first year things went from terrible to scary in my home. My boyfriend was involved in a outlaw biker gang and more unpredictable and violent than ever. His paranoia took on a new level and his hatred of authority grew. One night he was ranting about the police and stalking around our house with a gun. Buster did not like instability and he kept himself between me and this unstable person. Mandy hid in the basement. Finally my boyfriend called up the local police and told them to come to his house so he could settle a beef with them. As we waited for the police and Buster became more and more agitated by the yelling and thumping of the butt of the gun on the floor. It was around midnight when I took Buster outside behind our garage to play fetch with him. While back there I called 911 and told them that my boyfriend had called the police and told them to come over and I wanted them to know he had a gun and I was in the back yard. I refused to stay on the phone with them stating I could not take the risk he would come out back and find me on the phone.
When the police arrived one officer, gun drawn came out back to talk to me and Buster went after him. The officer was circling with his gun pointed at Buster and Buster was snapping and snarling at him and I’m trying ineffectively to get stressed out Buster to stop. The officer gave Buster a kick and he went yipping away. The officer apologized for kicking Buster and I thanked him for not shooting my dog.
Just about a year later after much planning for my safety I left that relationship and took both dogs and three cats with me. Along with everyone else Buster thrived in the new environment. He got daily walks and we took up hiking. Due to our tiny yard Buster learned to love playing catch as much as fetch. I enrolled Buster and Mandy in a dog training program with a local expert. I wanted to be able to take these dogs anywhere with confidence. The program execution started with the dogs attending a full day of training without me. At the end of the day the trainer told me I had a star student and asked did I know which one? I confidently said Mandy! But no, it was Buster. In the right hands Buster picked up on all the training quickly and earned his status as a star pupil and good dog.
Though the training went well I never quite got to the easy going dogs that I wanted. I believe that my lack of confidence was felt on the other end of the leash and Buster continued to try to ‘protect’ me. That is until the man that would become my husband came into my life. By the time Joe arrived poor Buster was wearing a muzzle when being walked. In short order Joe had him walking on a leash with a gentle leader.
Over the years Buster’s antics entertained and surprised me and you’ll find a handful of those stories in this blog. Buster had an on off switch. He’d be happy laying on the couch snoozing the day away but if presented an opportunity to go do something he was all in and prancing around like he’d been waiting all day to get started and we were about to do his favorite thing in the world. He loved to follow a trail and was a natural hiker. He climbed mountains and wooded trails with equal enthusiasm.
Every house he lived at he patrolled. He anxiously danced to get outside each morning so he could do his patrol and inspect what happened overnight. He would be out there with his nose to the ground, usually with another dog tagging along as he systematically checked the perimeter of his yard and other important areas. Once satisfied he’d make his way in to start his day with one of his favorite meals, breakfast!
When Joe and I got married Buster acquired Joe’s dog Molly as his step-sister. Molly didn’t really hang out with other dogs and never understood the value of dog play. Her regal bearing made it clear that she was beneath playing with a dog such as Buster. But Molly like Buster loved to play fetch. At 30 pounds Buster was outpaced by Molly’s 80 pound Golden Retriever physique and could not compete in a game of fetch. Molly would beat him to the ball every time. One of the first times they met we were walking in a nature preserve and Joe was throwing the tennis ball for both dogs. Buster continued with enthusiasm to try and get the ball. Occasionally he would succeed. The first time he did he put the ball down and peed on it. There! That solves that. But equipped with a ball thrower Joe picked up the ball and threw it. After a few more throws Buster managed to get the ball and this time he took off into the woods and returned without the ball. Molly being the good girl she was was not about to take off away from her Daddy to get the ball. Problem solved.
After Molly’s untimely passing we noticed that Buster was missing having another dog around and Joe was also missing having a dog that wasn’t a legacy dog of his wife’s. So he decided to adopt. The shelter we went to required other dogs in the house to be introduced to the prospective adoptive dog before adoption could proceed. Joe’s first choice, Chuck, a large manly dog was vetoed by Buster. Chuck was scary to Buster and didn’t know how to play right. So we took Chuck back inside and brought out Bryan a stub tailed, happy brown hound dog of indeterminate breeding. Bryan and Buster were two of a kind and hit it off immediately. Buster had a playmate again who Joe renamed Seamus!
Another year passed and Buster began to show his age a little more and could no longer match the play required by Seamus a 60 pound two year old dog. So we introduced Casey to the pack.
Buster continued to hike, patrol and be his enthusiastic self for the next few years. His last longer hike of 4 miles was when he was 15.5 years old!
Over his last year Buster lost control of his bowels, likely due to his ‘bad back’ which was diagnosed years ago, causing lack of feeling and control. He would often leave a trail of poop on his way to the doggie door. His arthritic body also no longer powered through on the twice a day dose of Novax and other drugs and remedies were introduced to try and help. Over the last few of months Buster would sometimes find himself fallen down outside and unable to get himself up to come in. I would have to go retrieve him. This happened 24 hours a day because he needed to go out several times a night.
In his final days I noticed that he was having a hard time holding up his 16.5 year old backside at times. Then there were a couple of instances of severe pain that left him crying inconsolably and an unable to move. My thoughts went to what if this happens when I am not around? Has it happened when I wasn’t around? It seemed like his quality of life had deteriorated to a point where he was having more bad times than good and I made the call. I’ve never seen a dog go from incapable of moving and crying inconsolably to walking and sniffing interestedly at plants like Buster did that day we took him to the vets. I said to Joe, let’s take him and run! But we didn’t. It still haunts me to think that he might have had more good days ahead of him though I logically know it was the right call.
This post took me more than five months to complete. I’ve become obsessed with Snoopy cartoons on Facebook because they remind me of my little Buster who had the smarts and physique of Snoopy. Burned into my memory is a moment a month or two before Buster died when he came and rested his chin on the couch next to my leg and stared into my eyes for a full minute with a relaxed happy face before going and laying down and taking a nap. In that moment it felt like we exchanged thoughts and he was saying ‘It’s been a good life. Thanks for the memories. I love you.’
Yesterday as we completed our daily walk of our block and trail and I started down the hill out of the woods to our house, I swore I heard the pounding of Buster’s feet running down that hill like he did every time we finished that loop and I smiled. He loved running that last leg right up to last of his days. I decided it was time to finish this post.
Rest easy my good buddy. Rest easy.
Words of Wanderers 