I will never forget the day I met my best friend. I was four years old, and it was three in the morning. My dad and Grandparents had decided I needed a dog. They were concerned about my seeming disinterest in other people, and figured I must just be a dog person instead of a people person. We'd spent weeks looking for the perfect dog. You know, one that just clicks with you.
Well, it was three am. I had fallen asleep reading my favourite Roald Dahl book (The BFG). It was June 30th, eight days after my birthday, and it was hot and humid for Scotland, where I grew up. I vaguely heard the phone ring in my dreams, and suddenly found my dad standing over my bed with his shirt badly buttoned. He picked me up (upside down, like a sack of potatoes) and ran outside to the car. I asked him where we were going, and he said that someone needed our help. We drove for ten minutes, my dad driving like a maniac, running red lights, screeching through turns in our tiny Volkswagen Rabbit. Eventually he pulls into the parking lot of the local animal shelter. We got out of the car hurriedly, and Dad started banging on the door and cursing the way only a truly livid Scotsman can. A few seconds later, my pseudo-uncle, Dad's best friend Owen comes and unlocks the door. Uncle Owen was covered in blood, and had the same scary look Dad had. The two of them talked for a minute before Dad took me aside and told me that I might want to wait outside, because there is a puppy in the other room that was really, really badly hurt and might die. I told him something I'd heard my grandfather say "A real man goes where he is needed!" I imagine that must have been quite funny coming from a girl in a pink and yellow nightgown, but Dad just smiled awkwardly, hesitated, then let me into the room.
That was the first time I laid eyes on my best friend. He was maybe five weeks old. Far too small to be away from his mom. He had a tube in his throat, and the vets were digging in a hole in his hip. He'd been shot with a small caliber weapon.
I learned later that they almost didn't save him. The shelter hadn't had the money to pay for the surgery. My grandparents and father had bee quite lucky, and had money they'd put aside after Grandpa sold his company. We lived in a nice house, drove nice cars, and apparently, saved animals. Dad paid for the surgery. Buddy, as he'd named the lab, came home with me two weeks later.
Buddy and I went through everything together. We had our good times, and we had our really bad times. He consoled me when my father died, he traveled with me, kept me sane during hours of classes. I got special dispensation from my professors to bring him to class with me, and refused to take a job where I'd have to leave him at home. The two of us were inseparable.
I graduated from University of Amsterdam four years ago. At this point, Buddy was 17 years old. We went home to Canada, and I knew this would be the last trip we took together. One year later, in August, I finally gave in and accepted he would not survive the treatment he needed for his debilitating bone cancer. I took him to the vet, and held him when he went to sleep for the last time.
Buddy was my best friend. I still think about him daily, and how much he enriched my life. Buddy kept me out of drugs, away from the wrong crowds, and kept me safe when I needed him, and I owe him everything for it. He touched not only my life, but my Dad's and Grandparents' lives as well. So much so that when my Grandparents died, they left their estate to the Scottish SPCA, where we got Buddy.
Knowing how much Buddy has enriched my life, and hearing stories from other people, and watching my daughter form the same attachment with her dog Spooky, reinforces the importance of the work the Grizz Project does for animals here in Magdalena. Knowing how much an animal can give you, it is only fair that those of us with the means or the ability give back as much as we possibly can. It is important that we all do as much as we can to keep groups like The Grizz afloat through donations of money, pet supplies and toys, or our time. Please consider making a donation in honour of your best friend, and help someone else find theirs.
