Buff, Super Buddy

I was six or seven years old when my chart of excitement in one day went through the roof. The Becker Milk man told my mother that a neighbor of his was trying to get rid of a litter of puppies. He offered to take me in his horse driven wagon on the rest of his route, then back to the barn, pick up his car and go to see the puppies. As I first saw them they were in a squirmy yellow bundle of long ears, tails to match, and soft fur, playing and nipping at each other. It was hard to pick but we drove back with “Buff,” soon to be a full partner in the family firm. (Despite the fact that she became car sick on the way home and so embarrassed me that I could barely thank the milk man.) Imagine, in one day I got to ride in a horse drawn wagon, see the horses get fed and bedded down, and got to pick out a puppy for myself.She became my buddy for the next twelve years. I chatted with her and told her my secrets. She slept in my room, she tracked me everywhere I went. She hiked with me to the top of the “mountain” near town. I would lose sight of her but I could hear her thrashing through the leaves. If I called, she would stick her head up and decide whether to come to me or be playfully stubborn.

When I went off to school, she helped Mom with the empty nest syndrome and helped Dad with the yard work. She was a family member until she died while I was in the army.