Yesterday was busied with laundry, slicing and dicing and slow-cooking a hearty pot-roast with Hubby’s favorite homemade cornbread and believe it or not, I found time to finally listen to and translate Buddy’s message to me, you know, that one that the Daily Prompt prompted a few days ago but Buddy voice recorded his message for me to transcribe. Here’s what my sweetheart puppy had to say to me:
“First of all, I know how much you love me. I knew it when those people first brought me to your home to see if you wanted me. Yeah. I was the runt of the litter, the last puppy left, nobody wanted me, but when you wrapped your arms around me, I knew we found each other. I knew I was home and then you left with those people to get your money out of the bank to pay for me. Thank you for adopting me.
“I know you were lonely. Your dad had just died, your husband moved to his new job in Oklahoma and it was just you and I in Arizona, alone, together. I tried to help you with all the painting and repairs you did to the house you were going to sell. There was a lot of work to be done, but, we did it, didn’t we?
“I remember the time you were trying to figure out those electrical switches that were in some kind of loop. I didn’t understand what you were mumbling about and I’m pretty sure you didn’t understand either but I was glad when it all worked out and you didn’t get electrocuted!
“You were there for my first monsoon. The other lady never let me run or play outside, she kept me inside in some kind of pen. Thank you for letting me stretch and run and play. I especially loved jumping into that water hole in the ground, I think you called it a hot tub. That was my favorite, especially when I got big enough to jump in and climb out all by myself!
“But, I will never forget that first monsoon. The thunder and lightening made me happy and I never knew I could run so fast and you laughed when I came sliding across the kitchen floor. You kept the patio door open so I could run in and out and play with the rain, thunder and lightening. I know you were having as much fun as I was even though you pretended to be bothered by my jumping on you. I still don’t understand why you weren’t running in and out with me. Oh well, you had your reasons, I’m sure.
“Remember the trip in the U-Haul truck when we moved to Oklahoma? I sure do. It was you, Daddy and me in the front seat of that big truck! I was so excited when we stopped at that place to sleep overnight. I think you called it a pet-friendly motel. You walked me on their land, telling me to ‘go ahead, go poop,’ but I couldn’t. I was just too excited. Heck, you and Daddy slept on one bed and I had that other bed all to myself and we were in the same bedroom all together!
“After driving most of the next day, finally, it was starting to get dark outside but the sun hadn’t set yet and Daddy did some turning and moving backward and forward with the big truck and shut it off. He came around to your door to pick me up so I wouldn’t fall out of that high truck and we all went to the back yard. That’s when I knew. I knew we were home. It was our new home. And I ran as fast as I could to the back corner of the property and emptied my bowels. I must have taken fifteen minutes to mark that yard with my scent! It was mine! That whole acre and a half was mine!
“Thank you for adopting Vayda to be a playmate for me. I didn’t want her at first, all I wanted was you and Daddy, but, she’s ok and when I was a little younger and a little healthier, I did like running and playing with her, I even liked trying to hump her. She was never impressed with that though and would just lay down flat, like a crocodile and ignore me. I guess romance just wasn’t in the cards for us.
“The biggest thanks I have for you is for committing to care for me when I was diagnosed with diabetes four years ago. Humans don’t think we understand, but I understood very well when we were in the Vet’s office and he left the room to let you and Dad think about how you were going to handle the news of my being diabetic. It was going to be a long, difficult commitment to care for me or a quick one to euthanize me. Thank you for choosing life.
“I’m sorry for the tears you cried when you were first learning to administer my insulin shots twice daily. I didn’t like them either but believe me, I quickly learned how much better I felt after getting those shots. Remember? If you were running behind schedule, I would bug you, bother you, I knew that I needed the shot. And I quit running from you like I did when this all first began because I knew it hurt you as much as it hurt me and we had no choice. Thank you for helping me live.
“Lately, the diabetes is wearing me down more and more. You were frightened when it caused that palsy to my eyeball. You thought ‘this is it.’ You talked to the doctor about how my gate is getting worse, but asked him to give me the drug for tick disease, just in case, and it fixed it, it was one of those damn tick-borne diseases we get around here, I could walk again.
“I know how tired you have been with having to decorate the house to accommodate a handicapped dog, but I also know and have heard you tell people that ‘as long as he is eating and can walk and tries to play, as long as he wags his tale, as long as he wants to live, I’m going to make him as comfortable as I can.’ Thank you for that, you make me happy.
“Finally, thank you for bandaging my back paws for the last two or three months. I know it’s hard for you to get down on the floor, I know your back hurts. I know how much you love me and I’m trying my best to heal.
“Remember the other day, you said something that reminded me of my puppy days, you were singing that song, the ‘I love you’ song, and I tried to twirl and jump like a jack rabbit? That always used to make you laugh. This time, it brought tears to your eyes. I’m sorry. I only wanted to make you laugh.
“I know the end is coming sooner rather than later, the doc said I wouldn’t make it through this winter. I’m telling you now, he is going to be wrong. I may have six months left before the diabetes finally kills my kidneys or finally gives me a heart attack, but Mom, as long as I’m with you, I’m going to love and live life.
“Thank you for loving me, no one on earth could have loved me like you do.
“Ok, that’s it for my writing career. Love you, Buddy.”
* * * Buddy is my real-life dog, he cannot write nor speak ‘human’, but we have been through everything I have written here. This is a true story. * * *