“A Sad Day for the Griswalds”

Our dog died yesterday (Friday) morning. I wrote this through the course of the day. If you don’t like sad stories, better pass this one up. Otherwise, go get the box of Kleenex. Sorry it is so long and rather choppy but this was a real healing process for me…
– Robert

It is a very sad day for us here in Paris:

Our dog, Buffy, died this morning. Officially his name was Huracan Buffy; Affectionately, he was known as Monsieur Stinky or simply, Stinky. He was fourteen years old with a birthday coming up next month.

Stinky usually gets up early with me and joins me in the kitchen while I have coffee and read the newspaper. But this morning he slept in. Vicky later came in and said that he obviously was not feeling too well – he had thrown up near his bed in our bedroom. Before showering, I went over and nudged him to come eat his breakfast in the kitchen. We usually make a game of this – he’s been blind and deaf for quite some time so I guide him to the kitchen (though he knows his way on his own) from behind and he races ahead as if to say, “OK, OK – I know where to go! ” But this morning he didn’t want to play the game and he slowly wandered into his favorite spot on the rug in the dining room (which is just opposite the kitchen) and laid down. I put out his food and water in the kitchen and went into the dining room to see if I could coax him into going into the kitchen to eat. He was sleeping and didn’t seem interested. He must be really feeling bad, I thought. I felt his nose and it was dry. I decided to take a shower and let him sleep some more. After dressing, I went back into the dining room. He still had not touched his food. I brought his food in to show him that it was waiting on him. He didn’t react. I petted him and there was nothing strange to my touch. Then I cupped my hands and lifted his head. His little head was lifeless. Over the next few minutes, I was unable to admit to myself that my little buddy had passed away. He looked so comfortable – resting there in his favorite spot.

I called the veterinarian and asked if I could get in right away. I wrapped Buffy in a blanket, put him in the car, and drove to the vet’s office. Somehow I still managed to think that he couldn’t be dead. I could feel my face flustered as I rushed through the waiting room and knocked on a door to the doctor’s office. An elderly French lady and her little French dog sat in the waiting room. The doctor’s assistant let me in and I went into the doctor’s office with Buffy in arms. Wouldn’t you know the French lady was bitching at the nurse because she had been in front of me; I don’t think it mattered to her that my dog had just passed away…

I had met Dr. Le Roy for the first time – only last December – when I took Buffy to get his annual vaccinations. He seems to be a gentle soul despite his six-foot-four frame. An unruly tuft of solid white hair and round wire framed glasses make him look somewhere between Dick Van Dyke and Dr. Doolittle. When we first met, he seemed to enjoy talking to me – I believe it was a chance to use his near perfect English. And with each word that stumped him on the English translation, he pulled out his French / English dictionary and took great pleasure in discovering the correct English word. I remember thinking that this guy truly loved animals and he was a great choice on veterinarians (my original factor in this decision was that he was the closest vet to our apartment.)

Dr. Le Roy gently examined Buffy’s body and listened intently while I described the morning’s events. The assistant had calmed down the lady in the waiting room and was now in the office. What she didn’t understand, the doctor translated to her. She was petting Buffy’s lifeless body as she tried earnestly to keep up with my English. Up until now, my composure was fine. But I saw the genuine concern on both of their faces and my voice cracked a bit while my eyes watered up.

The doctor suggested either a heart attack or a brain hemorrhage – or just old age. After examining Buffy’s gums, he said the hemorrhage was not likely. He said that he could order an autopsy but given that it was quite expensive and with Buffy’s age, it most likely wasn’t going to tell us anything beyond what he already suspected. Throughout the years, Buffy suffered periodically from mild seizures. Maybe one every three or four months. A vet in Puerto Rico told me it was a common thing in cocker spaniels. But Buffy hasn’t experienced any in over two years. Yet when he did have seizures, they were usually followed by a small bit of vomit. The doctor still ruled out a seizure.

He asked if I wanted to have Buffy cremated and have the ashes returned to us. I realized that this was the first time in my life I didn’t have a backyard to bury my pet. I agreed and Dr. Le Roy filled out the paperwork. In one month or so, we will receive a little metallic box with Stinky’s ashes. I guess we will eventually take them to Puerto Rico – his place of birth.

By this point, I almost couldn’t see straight – my eyes had watered up so much. I had to get out of there. My emotions were boiling up. I thanked the doctor and his assistant and asked them to send me the bill. I walked over to the examining table and pet Buffy one last time.

When I got home, the maid had arrived for the day and Vicky was home from the office. She and I briefly talked about what happened and gave each other a hug. I really wanted to be alone, so I made a retreat to the studio and began writing this.

Buffy has been so much a part of our international adventures. Like Vicky and myself, he learned to adapt to his new surroundings with total ease. In the beginning of his later years, we lived in Evansville; he slowly became blind and then eventually – deaf. I noticed one day that he no longer noticed the mailman. The norm was to come running downstairs when he heard the mail slot open up and letters falling in; if he was lucky – and the mailman was still at the door – he could greet him with a snarling, aggressive bark. Yeah! Teach that sonofabitch to stick his hand inside MY house! When he did this, he looked like a crazy, rabid dog. It was beyond me how such a normally docile dog could be so mean-sounding. But for Stinky, it was all just a big game.

The FEDEX delivery guy was a regular face at our Mulberry Street address in Evansville. Like other small towns throughout America, you get to know the UPS driver, The FEDEX driver, the mailman, etc.. (To Buffy’s credit, the mailman, Gene, was a cranky Vietnam Vet who sometimes joked about forgetting to bring his AK-47 to work that day. But Gene had a big heart once you got to know him.) The FEDEX guy knew Buffy and he knew that Buffy was slowly going blind. Buffy always was with me to greet visitors at the front door:

” Morning,” the driver would greet me with a smile, ” just need your signature here…”

” Oh hey. Morning. Just got rid of my UPS stock yesterday – ouch! …got any good tips for today?”

(Laughing & bending down to pet Buffy) “Hey little guy, how are you doing? Poor thing…is he getting along OK?”
I noticed the FEDEX guy looked as if he was close to tears… and Buffy is eating up the affection…

” Oh Heavens YES! He’s fine! He loves life, he loves his house and he loves his family! He knows this place by heart – he has no trouble finding his way around. And I don’t even know if he realizes he’s blind! His quality of life is excellent – don’t feel sorry for him – he loves life! He’s a very happy dog! – I promise! ”

The FEDEX driver continues petting Stinky and looks very skeptical at what I’ve just told him. He pets Buffy one more time and gives him a look as though they’ll never see one another again…

I guess it’s a lesson in accepting someone’s handicap and not constantly feeling sorry for them. They need their lives validated and sympathy is merely an obstruction to this validation. I certainly learned this from Stinky. Although, for his part, if sympathy meant a little extra scratch on the butt or a little piece of cheese, my little buddy would play the sympathy card for as long as it could possibly last!

His ability to adjust to his surroundings was phenomenal. He certainly had his house at 100 Mulberry Street wired…. but when we moved into the temporary apartment in Paris, I watched him physically scout the area. In less than a day or two, he knew the layout better than I did when I woke up in the middle of the night craving for water.

That little temporary apartment on the Left Bank near the Pont Neuf is also a good memory for the following reason: There is a Quai running along the Seine and under the Pont Neuf. It was where Stinky and I walked daily. Thomas Jefferson used to walk this same walk every morning. Vicky, when she walked him, preferred the tiny rues behind the hotel which passed by Picasso’s studio where he painted le Guernica. I always took pride in the fact that Stinky took a dump where Jefferson once walked and Picasso once painted….

Most of you have heard about his € 60 coiffures. My goodness! MY haircuts in Paris are even cheaper. It became a necessary evil but the ladies at Garden Dog (le Doggie Coiffeur a few blocks from here) truly loved Buffy and always commented on how sweet and laid back he was. Again, this was not just to garner customer loyalty – these women were as sincere as they could be. True animal lovers. And I think Garden Dog was a bit of added pleasure for Stinky’s social life: Although it was the wimpy Parisian set – mostly Scotty’s & Yorky’s, But I think he appreciated the canine company…

I do not think I can face these dear women to cancel Buffy’s next appointment towards the end of March. They were so sweet…I think I’ll write a letter instead. We spoke French but I think if I write a letter in English, they’ll understand everything said…

I was always impressed by how many people – wherever we lived – commented on how laid back he was. Veterinarians and groomers were especially vocal on the subject. They couldn’t get over how easy going and docile he was…

Of course, he was not always the docile dude. When we lived in Puerto Rico, he was a true outside dog and if he ever got the chance to sneak inside the house, he was like The Tasmanian Devil who had just been let loose. He was full of Puerto Rican machismo and totally dominated his original mate, Tina, another cocker spaniel. The two of them were classic role studies of male / female behavior. Tina was very feminine and polite; Buffy was cocky and aggressive. When food was put down, Buffy would push Tina out of the way and go to the bigger serving. It got to where Tina would politely wait until Buffy decided which bowl was his. Vicky always liked to tell the story of Tina and the dog crackers: there’s no real separate word in Spanish distinguishing ‘crackers’ from ‘cookies’, so when Vicky told the story in English, she spoke of giving Tina ‘cookies’. Well, Vicky would give the dogs ‘cookies’ and Buffy would always be first to grab them. He would gobble his up and then rush over to Tina and steal hers. But Tina was a lot smarter than Buffy: She finally figured out how to discreetly hide the ‘cookie’ in her mouth when Buffy would come over for the remainder of her cookie. (Vicky would act out this part when telling the story) Tina, in her very lady-like way, would sit there very still and curiously look at Buffy as if she were saying, “Who? Me? I don’t have any cookies!” Satisfied that they were all gone, Buffy would walk off while Tina nonchalantly went over to a corner and slowly savored her very own treat. Tina had a special place in Vicky’s heart: Vicky’s eyes always tear up when she thinks of Tina, “Poor Tina,” she says, with that far away look in her eyes…

Bless her heart, Tina died back in 1992. She and Buffy would occasionally catch toads and try to eat them. The toads secrete a poison on their backs that can often be fatal to dogs. Tina died in Victor’s arms as we rushed her to the vet. Buffy never learned from the experience – I think we later logged in five separate emergency trips to the vet after Stinky’s culinary delights with toads. By the last trip, Victor & I figured we were pretty good at our fast reaction times and knew the procedure well. Fortunately, for Buffy, we soon moved to Belgium. Poison mushrooms, maybe – but no poison toads…

Vicky accepted a new position in Europe with her company. I put notice in on my job and we looked forward to a new adventure in Europe. I will never forget the day Victor – Vicky’s father (another warm-hearted, gentle soul) – took Stinky & I to the airport to catch our Brussels-bound flight: Vicky had already been in Brussels for two weeks or so and I stayed back to deal with the movers and any last minute details. Victor who was always fond of Buffy (and hopefully, me!) helped me with the luggage and a new contraption that Stinky would eventually, believe it or not, learn to love – a portable dog kennel. I remember saying goodbye to Victor. He had a sad look in his eyes and I could sense he was wondering when he would see the three of us again.

Belgium posed a new dilemma: What do you do with a non-housebroken dog in a country where winters can be quite cold? It was going to be a lot different from Puerto Rico – where a cold winter day meant that the thermometer is hovering somewhere in the mid-seventies.

The answer? Doggie Boot Camp. Those first few months were like hell. It was our first experience in a strange, foreign land and we weren’t the pros that we are now. We lived in a tiny temporary apartment in the center of Brussels while we waited to move into our new house in the Belge suburbs not far from Waterloo. Our furniture was still in transit. The apartment didn’t allow dogs – or now that I think about it – they DID – we just knew that Buffy would not be a good idea where we were responsible for someone else’s furniture. So, Buffy stayed at the empty house – in the basement – because of the newly finished parquet floors throughout the house. It was a pretty traumatic experience for him. I would go over each day and clean up after him and feed and water him and then walk him. He never knew if we were coming back or not. You could hear him howling when he heard the car pull up. He scratched deep claw marks into the door leading to the upstairs. Although it was only short-term, he really didn’t like it. Poor guy…

We finally moved in. The house breaking was a pretty traumatic experience for me as well. Buffy was now four years old and he had never been house trained (of course, he never lived in a house.) Every previous dog I had owned was trained from a small puppy. There were times when I felt like I was ready to drop him off somewhere. I read several books on training dogs and finally found a good one that tells you to treat your dog as though YOU are the Alpha Wolf (read, Head Honcho) and he is the sidekick. I’m not kidding – you basically take on the role and pretty soon your dog is anxiously watching your every move and hoping to win your approval. It really worked. Slowly, the Tasmanian Devil evolved into a sophisticated, civilized European dog. And we became best friends in the process. We really bonded.

We lived in a suburban area on the edge of beautiful farmland. Stinky & I used to walk along the fence line under the trees; I used to take carrots and apples and we would stop and feed the horses. Stinky had never seen horses and he was quite amazed at these big dogs. He still had a little obnoxious macho behavior in him and I knew if I let him go, he would try and attack the horses. But at the same time, there was something inside of his little mind that told him that messing around with these guys was probably not a good idea. Vicky would often join us on our walks during the early evenings and we would sometimes meet up with a herd of cows; it was most likely their dinnertime and they thought we were the feeding crew. They would quietly walk over to us. They were exactly the color of Buffy (‘buff’, in official cocker spaniel lingo) and I remember the funny little incident when the cows first took notice to Buffy: They came up to the fence and stared down at this cute little cow. They couldn’t take their eyes off of him and it was a pretty magical experience as if there were some sort of communication going on… (I’ve got a picture of this somewhere in our photo albums.)

More memories of the Belge neighborhood included the ” Devil Dogs “, as I called them: two tiny, miniature, pitch black Schipperke (SKI-per-KEE) dogs that would appear barking madly out of the night fog from nowhere as if they were little creatures from a Hieronymus Bosch painting. They had no fear whatsoever. Fortunately for them, Stinky was neither interested in them nor their barking. And then there was Elephant Man (a neighbor’s Shar Pei) – the wrinkle dog who always came out and quietly watched us walk by…

The Belge neighbors (probably because of their French heritage) were very anal about dogs being off a leash. If they saw your dog without a leash, they were quick to scold you and seemed to enjoy it, as their nosy Parisian relatives do. But if you happened to see THEIR dog off a leash, there was always a justifiable reason. I always used a leash and Stinky was rarely without one – unless he escaped out the front door while we were talking to the milkman or if he did his infamous Houdini trick of escaping from the backyard. If the weather was nice and we planned to be out of the house for a few hours, we would leave Buffy in our large backyard. We often returned home to see him waiting for us on the front steps. I don’t know how much money I spent on various ways to keep the two side yards fenced but he always managed to escape from the “new, improved” barricade. He earned his nickname, Houdini and he earned it well. It was a game for him and he won every time!

A few years later, when we first moved to Buenos Aires, we lived in a really neat house that turned out to be an electrical and plumbing nightmare. Stinky never felt totally comfortable there. There were weird noises and Stinky was afraid to go anywhere in that house by himself. I had a studio on the third floor. He never went up there – it really spooked him. Vicky & I joked about the place being haunted and now that I look back and think about some of the stories, I think it probably was… [read my story, la Casa de los Munsters]

There was a pool in the backyard. An automatic filter that looked sort of like a blue and white life buoy with a hat floated around the surface. When I let Buffy outside, he would see the filter from the kitchen doorsteps and crouch into stealth position and slowly move towards the pool letting out a low, constant growl; when he got close to attack range, he would lunge at it and give off his meanest barks possible. I tried to show him that “The Pool Monster” was harmless but he never trusted my judgment….

Because of the various problems with the house, we were able to break the lease (something normally very hard to do in places like France, Belgium & Argentina.) We did a total about-face and moved into a modern, 52 story high-rise, home of TV celebrities, famous singers, notorious mobsters, actors, politicians, tennis stars (Gabriela Sabbatini), futbol heroes fallen from grace (Diego Maradonna), and now – American white trash – the Griswald’s! Neither Vicky nor I had ever lived in a high-rise apartment. We wanted to experience living in the city of Buenos Aires itself but also worried about Stinky not having his backyard; He adapted pretty well. I remember the first day we brought him over from the house to the new apartment: We got on the elevator and pushed the button; Stinky felt the ground move beneath him and did a big sigh while falling onto his stomach – all fours, spread eagle and a look as if to say, “Well, this is it – it’s my time to go! ” He managed to survive seven more years after that incident…

To counter the lack of a backyard, we employed the services of a young dog walker named Dario. If you ever travel to Buenos Aires, you will be amazed at the number of dog walkers there are. In fact, it would not surprise me if there was a dog walker’s union in BA! Dario was an energetic, skinny, young guy in his early twenties who – like most other Argentine young men – was a futbol fanatic. San Lorenzo was his team. He would pick Stinky up in the morning and return around 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon with an exhausted but happy cocker spaniel. One afternoon, Buffy appeared with a new, red & blue striped (San Lorenzo’s colors) collar. Vicky & I laugh about Stinky having more friends than we did. It was like a little country club for him. There were dogs of all breeds and sizes – usually a dozen to a group. One day we were walking down the street and a young man who we had never seen before claps his hands and says, “Hola Buffy (with his accent he pronounced it BOO-fee) ” Vicky & I were floored – we couldn’t believe it. NEVER was there a chance when WE were recognized on the street! I remember the first day Stinky went to “school”: I was like the nervous parent and ran to the window to watch Stinky and his new pals crossing the street on their way to Palermo Park. If he was an actual kid, he would be totally embarrassed by his father taking photographs of him and all of his friends – I actually trailed Dario & Company one day with my camera gear.

Incidentally, a friend of Dario’s took the photo of Buffy below. Dario had them taken of all of his dogs; he mounted and framed the 8 x 10 photos and sold them to all of his clients. I’m sure he did well on that little business venture…

One of Dario’s ” escorts ” helped Buffy overcome his fear of elevators. Her name was Lola. Lola was a petite, attractive brunette and very feminine – she was a darling little Yorky. Up until this time, Buffy did not like getting on the elevator. When Dario arrived one morning with some of the dogs in tow, Stinky flipped over Lola. Lola played the shy, hard to get role while Stinky clumsily tried to win her over. He realized it was going to take some more work but nonetheless was totally infatuated with her. As the elevator arrived, Lola hopped on. Stinky started to follow but quickly remembered his phobia. You almost needed a video camera freeze frame to record that micro second of momentary hesitance. I could almost visualize his thought process as he reasoned that Lola most likely would have nothing to do with some wuss afraid of an elevator. Stinky entered the elevator with total, manly confidence. I was proud of the boy…

Lola was really cute and was the only dog in the group not connected to a leash. She would normally tag along behind. In city traffic this was a sight:  a pack of dogs on leashes with a tiny Yorky not far behind. This same view was very funny from our apartment’s balcony – I often watched the group strolling down the street. Lola lived in our building which meant each morning she was guaranteed to be with Dario as he got off the elevator on our floor. Vicky & I would often tease Buffy as we saw sweet little Lola at the door: ” Buffy,” we’d say, stretching his name out, as if we were fifth graders teasing each other, “loooook whoooose here! LOLAAAA! ” Of course, Stinky has no capacity for blushing or embarrassment.

Stinky loved recognition. The Alpha Wolf dog-training book that sounded like rigid-potty-training-all-work-and-no-fun-for-Rover was really a good book. It talked about giving your dog recognition and making him feel special – within the balance of the Alpha Wolf role, of course. It says to use your dog’s name often in a positive, happy tone – it actually suggested making up songs with your dog’s name in it. Sounds really silly, I know but Stinky used to love it. Sixties rock ‘n roll tunes worked great for us. I remember our plumber who became a regular visitor at our nightmare house in Argentina. His name was Ramuchi. He was a jolly man in his early-sixties who always made a big fuss over Stinky. He loved it! Ramuchi would always spend several minutes exclusively greeting Buffy with his loud and enthusiastic, ” Hola, Che!! ” Buffy would actually smile back at him. Buffy got to the point where he could recognize Ramuchi’s little red work truck. They were big buddies. From this I started making a big deal over Stinky each morning: “Well look who’s here! Hey-hey-hey! ” This was the morning greeting and Stinky loved it. He would come in the kitchen – sleepy-eyed and smiling – wagging his tail when he heard my greeting. Despite his blindness and deafness years later, he still enters the kitchen wagging his tail and smiling because he smells me making coffee and he knows that if he could hear, he would surely hear my greeting…

No one appreciated my cooking more than Stinky! In his eyes, I was the ultimate chef. Cooking, for me, is a great therapeutic process; it’s like artistic meditation. Add a loyal furry friend at your feet and it’s even more special. Buffy was a great companion in the kitchen. Looking back, it was the place where Buffy and I spent most of our time together – in the mornings and evenings. He was the ultimate optimist: He faithfully imagined that everything cooking on the stove was part of a grand celebratory feast which would include him as Guest Of Honor. I was pretty set on feeding him only Science Diet (Vicky used to complain, ” why are you feeding him corn flakes only?”) but we often treated him with little surprises that you knew really made his day.

We gave him table treats and he really relished them. In the States (it’s unheard of and practically illegal in France), we would bring home doggy bags from Friday night. It never failed – on Saturday morning, Stinky was prancing around the kitchen – knowing that little bag of steak in the refrigerator was specially earmarked for him. Saturday mornings became known as Steak Days. Vicky was somehow nominated the Steak Queen: She was the lady responsible for dishing out the goodies. On Saturdays, it was always Vicky whom Monsieur Stinky courted….

He loved cheese – as most dogs do. He could hear the cellophane unraveling on the little pre-packaged cheese slices. And since we’ve been in France, he’s become a caninoisseur of French cheeses. I usually cut the outer edge of cheese for him. He loved crème fraîche (as I do) and he always got to lick the spoon on its way to the dishwasher. Popcorn was a big favorite. And pistachio nuts. Unlike so many other dogs, Buffy ate grapes, raspberries, tomatoes, carrots…. he was not discriminating.

And Buffy was a very social eater. He normally waits until everyone is in the kitchen before he starts eating his food. He enjoyed eating at the same time we did. He was very funny about that…

As he got older, he developed problems with his teeth and I had to quit buying Science Diet Senior because it was to hard for him to chew. I found a healthy French alternative that was a little softer but it was still hard for him to chew. So, during the last few months of his life, we started adding warm water to his food. In the mornings it was a special treat – we mixed it with warm, steamed milk leftover from the lattes.

Another special story involves Stinky and Vicky: Both loved breakfast and BOTH loved their sleep time. I remember many weekends that we would have breakfast as a family; after breakfast I would be working on something and suddenly wonder where my wife & dog were: further investigation would prove that both had gone back to bed; it was not a surprise to hear a chorus of snores coming from down the hall…

They both loved their beds so much…

The Alpha Wolf theory also recommended allowing your dog to sleep with you – after all, wolves DO sleep together! Well, that actually translates as sleeping in the same room with us. And Buffy has been doing so since the days in Brussels. I remember when we first started, Vicky said, “My goodness, this is never going to work.” Buffy snored like a little old man. He made all sorts of funny little noises. Because our neighborhood was almost in a rural setting, the nights were totally still and very quiet – almost too quiet! Stinky certainly changed that. I remember many restless nights in Brussels. But we gradually got used to it and by the time we moved to Evansville in 1999, we wised up and bought an air purifier that puts out enough white noise to drown out the sound of Monsieur Stinky’s infamous snoring.

Stinky had funny little trends that he was in to. He would do these things and usually they were trendy and wouldn’t last for long. We coined a current one “The Bird” – he would shudder his “feathers” with a bird-like sound; this was usually a morning ritual. Another comical one was his morning practice of scratching his back on the kitchen chairs; the chair legs would bang on the floor as if there was a ghost moving them around….

Another common one was a little scratch with his paw on your leg; it meant, “I’m hungry and I’m RIGHT behind you; when’s dinner ready?”

Over the years, he became the sophisticated international traveler. He didn’t exactly love his little dog kennel but he knew that if he didn’t put up with the kennel and the flight, he would have to spend a lonely two weeks in a REAL kennel. Airline personnel were always amazed at how he would get into his little kennel on his own free will. Stinky learned early on – if he wants to be with us, he has to do the plane thing. He became a real pro at it.

He has traveled with me in the car and is a great companion. He actually knows he is on vacation and will totally enjoy the experience; He loves it that European dogs are allowed in hotels! There is nothing more soothing for him than to cruise in the back of the Land Rover with all of the vibrations. The best part for him, is the realization that he is going with us – as opposed to waiting for us to come home…

One little interesting thing about Buffy was his appreciation for gifts. Of course he loved bones and rawhide chew things. If you gave him a stuffed toy, he instinctively knew it was his; he would cherish it forever. He had a collection in his bed – Ducky, Baby, Stinky Jr., Chicky, and a chewed up rubber newspaper. But his favorite toy was Piggy, a little, battery-operated, mechanical fuzzy pink pig that walked around and grunted. He would enthusiastically chew on Piggy until it was time for me to rescue the poor thing. For Christmas last year, I happened upon a smaller version of Piggy here in Paris. Although Buffy continued to react to (BIG) Piggy as he always had – even before his blindness – he had no clue with the newer, smaller Piggy. I guess there was no smell to associate the fun with. It was sad to witness this. After playfully putting the little pig in his face, he realized that this too was a new toy – his new toy! Victor was here with us for Christmas and got this and some other cute video captures of Buffy…

When I returned from the vet’s office today and saw Buffy’s little bed in the corner of our bedroom with all of his toys, it just tore me up inside. All of those little stuffed toys encircled the inside perimeter of his bed – that’s exactly where he liked them. Each morning before he got up, he would roll around in his bed and rejoice another brand new day. We always knew when he was up – we could hear Ducky squeaking…

I already miss him as I walk down the long, central hall in our apartment. He was famous for being right under your feet at all times and he usually is right there with me anytime I head down the hall. If I wake up at night, sometimes he moves onto the cooler wood floors and you have to be careful about not stepping on him. You learn to be light on your feet. I caught myself doing the same thing – out of habit – as I walked down the halls this afternoon.

I’ve had a rough day. I’m wrecked.

But I feel better that I have put this down for those of you who have lasted this long to read my special tribute to my friend.
I’m sure there are many stories that I forgot to share with you…

I will always wonder if Buffy made a last effort to come out to the kitchen area only to be closer to me before he died – he always wanted to be near us. It tears me up to think that he made that exhaustive final effort just to be near a loved one as he died…

I grieve for him so much. I wonder if he died peacefully. I wonder if he died knowing that we love him so much. I hate not knowing exactly where I was at the very moment he died. I hate thinking that I could have somehow said goodbye to him in a more satisfying way…

Goodbye, little buddy. I will miss you so much.

Stinky during younger days in Buenos Aires