Sweet Potato Haircut

Today Buddy will be freed of his body. His body, who has so wonderfully maneuvered him through the world, through his life and my life, his body who is slowing down to the rhythm of the cycles of life: he is in the final stage of rest, of restoration, of eternity. Buddy who shares one of my clearest early memories, me sitting on the brown pleather couch with a small Buddy wrapped in a post bath towel on my chest, my young arms encircling his young self, the two of us alone together and paused for eternity in that loving space of embrace and shared youth. Buddy who grew up with me, as we grew from puppies to adolescents, getting all our proper training for existing in the world as I started to shower daily and brush my hair, as Buddy learned to heel and poop outside and sniff another dog’s bum in greeting. We grew to adults, where I remain, my life cycle lagging behind my sweet friend’s, and he grew into the beautiful old dog he has become, bright eyed and weeble-wobbly and excitable as ever.

In his old age, Buddy has come to adore other dogs, as we meet them on the trail and his body quivers in excitement, his ears alert, listening extra closely to the sounds of his fellow dog, and for this I make extra effort to let Buddy meet these dogs, with lots of sniffing and waggling. Buddy is an absolutely ardent lover of carrots, something we have shared in our time together. Whenever I crunch into a carrot, Buddy, from whichever room he is laying, will shoot into an upright position, ears perked, and soon let out a vibrant bark in anticipation of his carrot(s), which I obligingly provide, and we crunch together in harmony, relishing in the earthy sweetness. It makes me feel special to be his carrot friend.

Buddy gives kisses less and less these days, his tongue dry and tired. But on the rare occasions when he does, like when I sit with him and rub his head and hum and his pale tongue appears suddenly and touches me warmly, lovingly, reciprocally, for a few licks, I feel like I have been sincerely blessed with his sweet, earnest love. When you hold Buddy’s head in your hands and scrub it with loving pets, he will slowly (or sometimes quickly!) bow his head and ram it into your person, evidently enjoying the rubs and the togetherness.

Buddy has also always loved spaces covered and tucked away, caves, as we call them. I imagine this has origins in his youth of being in his crate at night, which both he and his sister Dolly loved, their nests right next to each other full of their best blankets and toys. Buddy would lay underneath our upright piano, his body covering the petals and sheltered by the dashboard of keys above and the spindly sides, and as I played I would rest my feet on his furry belly, the two of us making music together and potentially my favorite part of practicing. These days, he takes to laying in the cool, dark laundry room at the end of the back hallway, where he and Dolly’s crates used to be. I suspect this has something to do with his affinity for resting here, along with the cave-like qualities.

Buddy has always been a loyal and dedicated companion. Especially to his dear sister-cousin Dolly, with whom he grew up and spent all his days until November of 2019, when she was freed of her body to join with the soul of the world. After this, Buddy entered an undeniable time of depression in which his tail hardly lifted from between his legs, his appetite lulled and his prior enthusiasm for the world became mere apathy, a softly beating heart. The only times his animation would return was when he would spot a black dog across the street, walking with a stranger, and he would light up to reunite with his Dolly girl, our hearts breaking in tandem as he realized the strangeness of the dogs smells and sounds. But he has since recovered his joy for life, and has been the dearest companion.

As we walk in the woods together, he has forged his own path around the fallen trees so as not to step over them on his stiff legs, and he never forgets his route, catching me off guard at times when I am absentminded as he pulls me toward “Buddy’s Path,” as I’d like to commemorate it. My mom said recently that she had a poetic thought while taking Buddy for a walk about how he has cleared the path for us as we’ve grown and faced challenges and maneuvered the scary and wonderful world, and now in return, we help to clear the path for him as he makes his slow transition toward the infinite (both literally, moving branches and debris from his path, and metaphorically, giving him the best life we can).

Sometimes when I turn to bring us home from the woods, he stands as squarely as he can and won’t budge, telling me his intentions to continue walking, or to take a different route. Buddy is at times quite stubborn. It soothes me now on his last day in this body to imagine his reunion with Dolly, their exaltation in being together again to frolic the earth, or the heavens, or wherever they might meet. And I know that Buddy knows of the web of love that lingers behind, the strength of our shared connection with our sweet and generous old friend, and I know that we will be together for always, for we have touched each other’s hearts, and this is the stuff of eternity. 

12/3/21