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Blog entry by Heather Froeschl, written in May of 2007.
Note to readers and Nona: Thanks for the fun! Hope I can offer some entries again in the future. Here's a final entry, not to outdo Nona's beautiful post about her Missy, but as an offering of love to my own cancer victim, Buddy.

When I was a kid I read all kinds of books. My very favorites were stories about having a dog. I so wanted a dog of my own. My grandma had several as I grew up and I adored them but they lived with her and not me. They slept by her bed and tagged along wherever she went. The dogs of my dreams would sleep on my bed, anxiously await me to take them on long walks, go exploring in the woods, fetch sticks I threw in the pond, lick my face and make me laugh, and listen patiently as I shared my fears, hopes, dreams and tears. As a kid, I never had that.

As an adult, I quickly got into the habits of life…working, marriage, having babies, exploring my world, worrying about bills. As a married couple, it dawned on us that we could do whatever we wanted, within reason. If we wanted to have another baby, we could. If we wanted to adopt a dog instead, we could. Dogs don’t wear diapers or wake you up for two a.m. feedings. But, dogs are like babies who never quite grow up. Dogs need to be house trained. Dogs do wake you up in the middle of night, when they’re pups, because they are lonely, because they need to go out, because they want to chew on your hand. Dogs forever need a sitter if you’re going to be absent for long. Kids eventually grow up and no longer need a sitter. But we’d asserted our adult rights and adopted a golden pup named Buddy.

Over the years he shared his true self with us. Over the years he grew into that dog of my dreams, who watched me with his big brown eyes wherever I went in the house, who patiently waited for the tennis ball to be thrown. Who slowly began to stink up the house like nothing other than an old dog can do. Who eventually lost most of his eyesight and a great deal of his hearing. The snap of the leash clip no longer meant anything; the pouring of dog food into his bowl no longer elicited running toenail clicks. His twelve year old body truly acted like the 84 human year equivalent. But his mind…he knew when to wag his tail, when to hide from the thunder, when to put his head in my lap.

In his final days, Buddy once again showed me his true self. He amused me with our tennis ball game, even jumping up to grab it as it bounced only to drop it when I tossed the decoy ball. He perked up his ears as if he could hear me calling him, and maybe he could, just barely still. As the kids hugged him goodbye for the last time he looked up at me over their shoulders as if to ask “what’s wrong?” I saw his puppy self in that moment. That “I’ll do anything to make you happy” look that dedicated dogs give their people. If only he could have accomplished this feat – suddenly become cancer free.

Maybe this pain is what my parents were protecting me from all those years ago when they wouldn’t let us have a dog. I’d do anything to have my own kids not feel it now. Maybe though, the bad has to come with the good. All of those years of puppy love, all those days of joyful freedom, exploring the woods, had to be balanced with the heartache love brings when it ends. Thanks Buddy for the life lessons, the love, and the slimy tennis ball hands.