I'm not sure where to begin. Life was over for me. Karen had left and now had her own apartment. She needed time to think. All I could think about was how I was responsible for it all. (We would happily re-unite) So I went to the local humane society to see the animals. I needed to connect, I needed to feel their sorrow and somehow stabilize mine. As I walked through the penned areas this young giant Golden Retreiver came to the fence and placed his nose through it to be touched. When I touched him I could feel his comfort at being connected. His eyes were almost on fire with his need. I continued on my way but two days later his touch haunted me. I went back and looked into his pen, a red tag said that this would be his last day if not adopted. As soon as he saw me he cried out and ran to the chain link rubbing the length of his body against the fence. His lips pulled back in an obvious smile. He had me. Into my Jaguar this long legged dude took over the whole front seat. Every once in a while, on the way home, his huge tongue would find my neck and face. I guess he liked the car. Our paths crossed, and our journey was about to begin.
He was so beautiful, people would stop me in the park or on the street to touch him. I did not yet know just how special he was. He trained me, would follow command, seemingly without being asked. Golden Retreivers are such a gentle breed, Buck was great with babies. On a beautiful summer day in Breckenridge, Buck and I walked the shops. We came upon a couple pushing a stroller. Buck pulled at the leash and at first I did not understand. As I watched, he gentley walked to the stoller, sat, and extended his beautiful paw to a child of progeria. Although only a year or so old, the child looked like a tiny man in his eighties. The couple froze as the little boy reached out and touched Bucks paw. The little boys mom and dad began to cry. You see, he was afraid of dogs. They laughed through their tears and began stoking Buck and letting the little boy grab Bucks hair and touch his big rubber nose. As they left, the wife turned and said "thank you, thank you so much". Buck watched them walk away, his ears perked, glad to have made a new friend. He was a communicator, an old soul. There would be many instances to come.
In November of 1997 Buck and I set off in a 1972 Cadillac hurse. I had transformed it into a mini motorhome. I pointed the nose south and didn't stop until I was deep in the state of Sinaloa, just west of Esquinapa, on the water, in the little fishing village of Teacapan. We left it all and went to Mexico.
On the way, before El Salto, I was driving late at night. I saw at a distance a fire in the middle of the road. It was a drum with oil, and beside the road were two drunk banditos. A third staggered to my window brandishing a pistol and demanding money. From his sleep, Buck raged from the back of the hurse. His teeth were showing and saliva sprayed from his mouth as he protested in an angry manner. He was a crazy dog, looked violent as hell, and he was big. The bandito dropped his gun (I could see through the ends of the cylinder that it was not loaded). I hit him with the door and my hand, and Buck and I were on the way down the road with all of our things. Buck could be very demanding when a situation called for it. He just seemed to know. For him, Mexico was a place of many wonders. BIG Iguanas, flocks of pelicans to chase, and street dogs to show who was boss. The people of the village called him "Galante' " before knowing his name. On the beautiful cool nights walking the plaza, families would stop and love him, touch and talk to him. He was a healer, a connection to what love must be like.
Returning to a beautiful mountain home with acres and acres of ponderosa pines, little Hebert squirrels to chase, and Canadian geese to piss him off, he was in heaven. In 2009 he began to fail. I didn't know if I could take it. He was my hero, and he was dying. He loved us those last days, lifting his weak head, wobbling onto the deck to go outside to pee. And when he was ready to go he let Karen know. As she comforted him he began to cry softly into her lap. We understood, and with heavy heart we held him and told him we loved him as our wonderful Veterenarian assisted Buck to his peace, all without pain.
Have I known true unconditional love? Oh my yes. He saved my life, he changed my life. He taught me many things, above all, tenderness and unconditional positive regard.
I miss my boy.
Rocky
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