“Buddy,” Part Deux

We really didn’t think we’d ever see him again–Buddy, that is. As noted in my previous blog, he came, he saw, he went back home. I have to say we sort of missed him.

Until two weeks ago.

Suddenly, there he was . . . standing at the bottom of the steps by our porch. Snickers was headed out to the yard for her, well, what dogs do in the yard, and she ran almost smack into Buddy as she bounded down the steps. His rather large presence blocked her way and he scared her into a barking frenzy. He looked at us apologetically before climbing the steps and ambling into our house.

“Guess who’s back?” I shouted through the front door. “It’s Buddy!”

This time, our older son was home visiting. “See, I told you he was real!” I exclaimed as Buddy nuzzled up to him. Sure enough, Buddy had a collar with a tag–name and phone number.

Buddy’s real name is Rocky. And he stayed with us the rest of the day, and overnight, and into the next day. He laid on the floor. He laid on couch. He laid on the nearest person. All we had to do was say his name–his real name–and he was up off the floor with his head on our laps.

“I want a big dog,” said Son Number One. There is something about a warm animal, almost as big as you are, who wants to give so much love! I mean, we wouldn’t trade little Snickers for anything, but big dogs have a certain je ne sais crois. I took pictures on my phone of Rocky snuggling us and sent them to our other two kids.

I called the phone number on Rocky’s collar and left a voice mail to the effect that Rocky was with us, he was safe, he’d stayed the night, and we really enjoyed having him. Got a call back later basically saying, “He’s a good dog. He roams all over the place. If he ever bothers you just call us up and we’ll come get him!” Well, he’s no bother at all!

That afternoon we had to run some errands and didn’t want to leave Rocky pent up in our house, but neither did we want to lock him out of the house. We decided after much discussion to put him in the van and return him across the river to his home. No people were around, but Rocky knew where he was and headed into the back yard. Apparently the entire county is his playground.

Son Number Two arrived home last weekend. “I want to see Rocky,” he said, “Wish he’d come over.” We thought about borrowing Rocky for a couple hours before heading to the airport to send Son Number Two on his summer trip. As we headed out across the river and through the next town, guess who just happened to be standing in a field by the road?

You got it.

We pulled the van into the weeds beside the road, and all of us jumped out. Rocky scampered toward us like we were long-lost friends. Son Number Two got to meet Rocky at last!

He may not be ours, but we sure do love this big old country dog. Rocky, come on back anytime. You know where we live!

6 thoughts on ““Buddy,” Part Deux

  1. Glad the boys got to meet him! He must be pretty “street smart” if he roams all over and knows his way to and fro. Post a pic on FB if you think of it. 🙂

  2. I have a big dog. I like the idea of a visitor dog. If buddy came to my house, he’d go in and turn around and run! I have two dogs and two cats-dont quite know how that happened!

  3. I have to think that there is more to Buddy than meets the eye (or the tail that wags the dog.) He seems to be on a mission of some kind checking on the Taylors. You know when we entertain strangers, Hebrews says that we entertain angels unawares! Maybe that applies to the canine kind as well.

  4. Just had a chance to read this. It happens, even in the city! When I lived on Division Street in Chicago, right by the lake, Lady came into our lives, for one, brief summer. She was a standard boxer, beautiful, with the most soulful eyes. She followed my dad into the house one day, and settled in. We’d just lost our Teddy, so were glad for the new presence. Unfortunately, whatever made her run from her first home stayed with her, because one day, she bolted out the front door when my dad was leaving for work – cars on Division Street ran fast, and were not kind. We mourned her the rest of the summer, until Dixie (she was from the South Side of Chicago – my dad worked on South Michigan Ave., and she was sitting by his car one day) adopted us. She was a companion to my father for years, until shortly before he died.

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