Story and photo submitted by Gwyn Dekker
Buster was foisted on me when he was eight months old. I didn’t want a dog. I was still grieving for my 17-year-old Collie who had disappeared the previous year. “Then he’s going to the pound,” said my 'friend' (who had been unable to housebreak him).
By mid afternoon my daughter had shown Buster how to open the back door. Instantly housebroken!
The very next day my brother drops in for a surprise visit:
Gwyn, you don’t need a dog right now.
You can’t afford a dog right now!
You need to take him back before you get too attached.
…It’s too late already, isn’t it….?
Then I turn around and glance out the back door. Buster is quietly sitting there, dripping blood. Thus began our first of many adventures. He had puncture wounds in a path from his muzzle to his back paw. It looked like a young alligator had tried to have a snack.
Buster has been a family member for 14 years. He is the classic “velcro” dog. I can’t brush my teeth without him nudging his way between me and the sink. When I have visitors, he sits between us. When I stand up, he does, too! We have taken numerous road trips together. He doesn’t seem to care where we go or what we do as long as WE are doing it.
Nowadays, he doesn’t hear as well as he used to. There’s a smokey film over his eyes. His back legs aren’t as reliable as they used to be. He seems to nap more. That’s okay though, cuz I’m pretty much the same way.