Buckwheat

He was born in near Harrisburg, Arkansas in December of 1994. About two months later, my brother got him a plane ticket and shoved his hairy little ass on a Northwest Airlines flight to Newark, NJ. He weighed about 4 lbs, but most of that was bark and howl. He didn’t remember me when I picked him up at the airport because we had only met once and that was when Jordan selected him. His eyes weren’t’ yet open. He was one of nine in a town so small that the only building in it was abandoned years ago when it collapsed.

His name was Buckwheat. He was a Lab, a black lab. He grew to be a big dog, and he was uncommonly smart. He understood more English than most High School Graduates do, and was a hell of a lot more polite. He was a good dog but not a perfect dog. When you played fetch, he would drop the ball at your feet, but he would stay poised right beside the ball with his tongue resting on the ball as if to claim it. That’s cheating if you are playing fetch.

Buck had another flaw, a serious character flaw.. With an absolutely clear conscience, he would look you in the eye and bold face lie to you. Buck would always earnestly insist to anyone who would listen that he hadn’t been fed in weeks. He would sit there dripping wet and deny that he had been in the pool. He would look at you with a halo and an air of angelic purity and insist that he did not know what happened to the pizza crust……or the whole pan of lasagna. The damn dog was a liar.

Buck was three years old when his ‘brother’ arrived. We brought Catfish home from the hospital, and Buck had the first sniff. At first, he wasn’t too interested in the boy, but as the boy grew, Buck did his part in teaching him to be a good kid. If you ever needed to find the boy, just find the dog and the boy would be nearby. When Catfish was just a tiny boy, he used to tell people that Buckwheat was his brother. Buck was a gentle, and he taught Catfish to be a gentle kid. Buck was a rough-house dog, and Catfish will rough house with you. Buck was an understanding dog, and Catfish understands. Buck turned three circles before curling up to nap. Catfish never acquired that particular trait, though he did pee in the yard lot. Dogs are good for boys.

Somehow14 years slipped by, and Buck got old. It seemed like one day he was swimming with my daughters in the pool, and the next day the girls were off at college, Catfish was in high school and Buck had gray hair, cataracts, and bad hips. One of the cruelest realities of being a grownup is that you see dogs go from puppies, to grown dogs, to old dogs, to memories. They don’t know when they are puppies, and they don’t realize they are getting old, and they have no concept of their own mortality. They just live for today, and a smile from you. They may be a bright spot in your life, but you are their entire life. No one, except your mother, loves you like your dog, and sometimes your mother prefers the dog.

I have often said that if you treat you kids as well as you treat your dog, both will turn out ok.

On September 18, 2007 while playing soccer with Catfish and his soccer team, I tore up my knee. I didn’t know it yet, but I blew out my ACL, tore my meniscus, and split my tibia. The next morning, Buck was sick. He couldn’t stand. He was disoriented, and couldn’t walk. I carried him to the van, and took him to the vet. Sick old dogs are tough on a man’s heart. It was a pretty tough walk to carry him to the van, but a far tougher walk coming home alone.

Here’s to memories of old dogs. Buck would have been 27 years old this year. His ashes rest beneath a dogwood tree we planted in our backyard a few years ago here in Florida. With graying hair and bad knees, I sometimes look over at that dogwood tree in the predawn light of early Florida morning. I take a few minutes to just remember. Through the steam rising off of my coffee, I can almost see Buck and the kids playing in the early morning shadows. Gradually the sun rises and the puppies and kids recede back into my memories.

Pretty soon it’s just me, my coffee and the dogwood tree, but I remember.

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