Buster's Story

A Tribute By Doug
The Human Buster Loved

Buster's Belated Eulogy and a 
Twilight-Zoney-Kinda-Thingy-Buster-Moment

Well here it is 4:30 AM. I woke up about and hour ago and could not get back to sleep, so I thought I would induce some self-therapy and write this.

Buster

Losing Buster has been very hard for me. I think about him a lot and miss him dearly. He was a very special dog who touched the hearts of many people. When he died in my arms over at Pop's Place, there was not a dry eye in the place. Everyone loved him. 

 I never knew a more empathetic dog. One night at 3 o'clock in the morning, I was sitting on the steps of my porch crying over the loss of a loved one. Buster very gingerly walked up, put his front paws down on the first step, sat down and slowly ooched his butt up next to mine, leaned his head over to me, licked me gingerly on the cheek and then put his head on my shoulder. 

He sat there like that for over 2 hours and we watched the sun come up together. He knew I was hurting and did not know what to do, except to be there for me.

I remember when we had parties and there would be children there. Buster loved children, was aware and their innocence and vulnerability, and always watched over them. He was very subtle about it and I don't think many people even noticed what he was doing. I remember when Linda was there with a very young Kelsey; I think she was about a year old. Buster and Taz spent the whole weekend making sure that other dogs did not bother her. 

At one point that day I looked over and Buster was sitting on the blanket with her, his butt right next to hers, and he was scanning the perimeter. Buster and Taz always stayed between Kelsey and the other dogs. It was not aggressive; they just ran interference. If they saw another dog walking toward her, they went and stood in front of that dog and gently herded it away. They never looked at that dog, no hackles were raised, no growling, they just made their point. And that night when Linda and Kelsey slept on the sofa-bed, that is where Buster slept too. 

 And oh, his Dunderhead days; he just knew he would eventually win that battle with a skunk. He had severe SLD (Skunk Learning Deficiency). During his first year I must have de-skunked him at least once a month, fussing at him all the time he was getting his hydrogen peroxide/baking soda/dishwashing detergent bath. 

During the last months of his life I never left him alone, he was having too many heart attacks. So when I went to town, he (and Zeke of course) stayed at my parents. One night when we came home, there was that unmistakable smell of skunk in the air. None of my dogs had been skunked, so everything was all right. I went about my business and unloaded the truck, and then noticed Buster was not around. I found him sitting on my bed with his head hung down, and his big brown eyes looking up at me saying, " I didn't touch that skunk man, really I didn't." I laughed, sat down on the bed and hugged him and told him he was a "good boy". He was greatly relieved. 

Buster was a tough dog. When I first got him, he loved to fight. I have seen him in battles with dogs, coons, cats and other wild life out here. After all, he had been in survival mode for a quite a while before I found him. That day I found him, he was all cut up, scarred and had major infections all over him. He eventually learned that fighting was inappropriate behavior, and that it got him into trouble with me. It always hurt his feelings terribly if I got mad with him. It made him easy to train because he cared so much about how I felt about him. But he was always protective of his territory. One night Woody and I came back from town and he and Chauncie were just exhausted, with wounds all over them. Buster was especially hurting and Chauncie kept licking his wounds. I think it was a coon fight that night.    

One night Buster got porcupined. It was in his snout, mouth and gums. That tough ol' boy sat in my lap and let me pull those quills out with pliers. It hurt like hell, but he knew I was trying to help, and he toughed it out, cooperating as best as he could, and let me do what needed to be done. He let me open his mouth and reach in with the pliers and pull quills out of the roof of his mouth. I alternated between his snout, the roof of his mouth, and his gums. When I pulled the last quill out, he just collapsed in my arms. He was so relieved and thankful. He never developed (PLD) Porcupine Learning Deficiency. 

Buster and Chancie

He loved to ride in the truck and was always very proud when he got to go alone with me (and of course Zeke). Since the other dogs were not along he could ride in the cab. He knew it was special and would sit right next to me with his chest pumped out, his head held high and his back military straight. One day we were in town and stopped at a traffic light. He turned his head and gave me a big ol' wet kiss in the face. As I turned my head sideways to avoid getting slobbered too much, a lady in the car next to us was laughing like crazy. I just rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. She knew I had a good friend.

Buster never liked thunderstorms. He probably was caught up in a couple with no shelter before I found him. He never ran and hid, shivered or anything like that, he just calmly walked up to me and sat down real close. He never looked at me, just sat real close and stared off into the room. It was if he did not want me to know that he was scared.

Even to the end Buster was tough and not willing to give up. I have never seen an animal go through so many severe heart attacks and survive. He just refused to die. These were attacks that literally knocked him off his feet. He would jerk violently and you could see his throat just throbbing and chest heaving as his heart was pounding trying to get back in rhythm. This must have been very painful for him and certainly scary, for him and for me. I was always ready to take him in and have him put down if needed be. I sure did not want him to suffer, but as long as he was willing to fight, and the good days outnumbered the bad days, I was going to let nature take its course. The holistic health care plan I put him on, helped a lot. My vet was so impressed that he took notes on what I was doing and would do free EKGs to monitor his progress. Buster would have definitely died last October, instead of this last Easter, if I had not done that for him. My vet said that I gave him the human equivalent of 6 more years of life.

I could not have written a better script for Buster's last day. He had his breakfast of chicken, rice, grits, and raw beef heart. He went to my parents that morning where my mother fed him even more goodies.

 Later that day Mom called me and said Buster had had a bad heart attack. I quit what I was doing and went to pick him up. As we were driving home I thought I should probably stop and get some rum. It might be a long day. I kept a close eye on Buster while I was driving. He seemed a little stressed, but not too bad. I decided to take the scenic route home along Bump Gate road. There are many ranches along this road, with cattle, exotic game, and lots of deer. The speed limit is 20 mph, so I could role down the window and let Buster hang his head out and sniff the winds. His big ol' lips would fly up in the wind as if they were wings, exposing his pink gums. I was going to head home, but I something told me he needed to go hang out at Pop's Place. He just loved it there, he had many friends and there were always new kids to watch over. He was such a social animal. The owners loved him and always wanted me to let him out of the truck. 

All the local neighbors loved him too. They always said "Hi" to Buster first, and then to me if they remembered. Well he was having a good time when Darlene said" Doug, Doug!" and pointed. I looked over and Buster was staggering a little bit. He was having a mild heart attack. I sat down on the concrete and held him. He very calmly curled up in my arms and closed his eyes for the last time. I sat there holding him and stroking him with tears in my eyes. I calmly, but with excruciating pain in my voice cried, "He's gone. I can't find a pulse." 

My friends, my neighbors, helped me load him into the truck and take him back home. They helped me dig his grave, his final resting place. We buried him with the rest of the dogs looking on. I wanted them all to see, to know that Buster had breathed his last breath. My friends insisted that I come back to Pop's Place. They did not want me to be alone. I took some time to call my friends and send out an email, load up the rest of the dogs, grabbed the bottle of Bacardi 151, and go back to Pop's Place and just got smashed. Friends drove me home later that night. 

This started out to be some Buster thoughts, but as I was writing, it just kept growing until I guess it just became a eulogy for Buster. I needed to do this. It helps. Some nights I would sit in bed thinking about him and say, "Buster I wish you could give me a sign that everything is all right". It just felt good to say, I never really expected anything to happen. And then the following did.

A few weeks ago I had a bizarre incident happen. As I mention, Buster never liked thunderstorms. We were having a pretty bad one that night, lots of lightning and loud thunder. I went to bed about 1:00 am. About 3:00 am I felt a dog jump up on the bed. With my eyes still shut and assuming it was Chauncie, Jodie, or Sadie, I reach over to pet the dog. I felt a very wet dog; a very wet dog that was not one of mine. Now I am half asleep, so I open and my and in silhouette, I see a boxer. I kinda freak out and say, "Buster?". Remember, I am still half asleep when I see this, but I wake up real fast, because this is too freaky. I turn on the lights to see a beautiful female Boxer named Betsy, who lives down the road. Now this dog knows me, because I have been to her place. She is usually ill behaved and always barking at my dogs in the truck. My dogs really don't like her very much, and I always assumed that there would be a fight if she ever came into our yard. Now this girl has never left her property, has never been to my place, has never been through a pet door, is not afraid of thunderstorms, and does not get along with my dogs. Yet that thunder stormy night, she runs to my house, comes in the pet door, has no confrontation with my dogs, and hops up on my bed as if she had done it a million times. I just put her in the shower, cleaned her up, dried her off, and changed the muddy blanket on the bed. Then she curled up next to me and we slept the night away. I called her folks the next morning and they came and picked her up. She has not visited again. That was just way too bizarre folks. 

I know this was long, somewhat disjointed and rambling. I could have told so many more stories, like the time he ate 2 pounds of cheddar cheese that he stole off the table at one of my parties. But I have written the essentials. I think I have captured what was the essence of Busters soul, a courageous and proud dog with a tender, loving, caring heart. Buster was not just a good dog, Buster was not just a great dog; Buster was an absolutely incredible dog. And I miss him dearly.

I guess I really wrote this for me. But, I hope you enjoyed it.

Your friend,

Doug  

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