Saying Goodbye, and Thanks for the Memories, to ‘Little Buddy’

It is never easy to lose our furry family members and friends. But we’d be lost without them if we never had them at all.

Finn, a very good boy, who’s given us very good memories, like this one on hike.

Sunday evening, I unexpectedly found myself on the road, headed to my childhood home in southwest Pennsylvania. My mom had called to relay the news that her lovable, best-bud, and faithful companion, Finnegan, had crossed the rainbow bridge.

Finn passed away just as he’d lived – peacefully, with my mom at his side.

We had celebrated Finn’s 9^th birthday in April, and acknowledged that he was gaining on turning 10 – the lower end of the life expectancy of most golden retrievers – faster than we’d like to admit, even though we are fully aware of how time works and is measured. Such is the case with aging loved ones.

My parents always had dogs, so I grew up with, and will continue growing up with, them. We might teach them the good manners to sit and wait, and the diplomacy of handshake agreements, but they teach us more. To love unconditionally. To care for another. To delight in a walk for the sake of a walk. To enjoy the Sisyphean act of fetching a thrown ball only to retrieve it with unbridled glee again.

I can faintly remember Shaz, who I called ‘Bubby’, because still-figuring-out-how-to-talk me apparently couldn’t, or wouldn’t, call her Shaz. She answered to both, and was the first dog I loved who shared life with me inside the four walls where I grew up.

Then, there was Sam. And later, Max. And Jake, and then Buddy, and Jax. The list goes – and will continue to go – on even though each comes with its separate heartache and grief.  

It is never easy to lose our furry family members and fluffy friends. But I am convinced that we’d be lost without them if we never had them at all.

Like Bubby, Sam, Max, Jake, Buddy, and Jax, Finn was a very good dog. He started out as an ornery pup who matured into a mellow, sometimes obstinate, hefty (at a hundred-plus pounds) handsome, loving golden who went by many names.

No dog I’ve known, or had, has had just one name. For ours, Remi, it’s Rem. Rem-Rem. Remi June. Sweet Baby Angel. Darlington. And, of course, Remi-Very-Good-Girl.

For Finn, it was Finnster. It was also Beef (for aforementioned heft). Also, Barf, because, at times, he bore an uncanny resemblance to John Candy’s “Spaceballs” character. He was known by others as Falkor, because he had the grin, and hair, of the dragon in “The Neverending Story.”

Finn (left) trying to offer his best Barf (right) impression.

Most recently, we’d taken to calling him Little Buddy.

Like all the rest, he happily accepted the new nickname, and responded without reservations.

The last time I spent with him, we went outside to throw some balls. He preferred fetching two or three at a time, and could, if so moved, carry up to four in his mouth. He had the good fortunate of living in a home with a yard littered with balls.

When I threw a few for him, he was wading slower through the grass to fetch them, sometimes even having a lie-down half-way through. I like to think he wasn’t worrying and knew there wasn’t a rush for me to get them back.

Yesterday, I meandered about, picking up tennis balls and putting them into a bucket. This morning, when strolling about, I found another, and am sure I’ll find more yet. It made me smile, and I know they will, too, thinking of the happiness it brought him, and anyone else on the tossing-end of any one of those balls.

Little Buddy might be gone, but all the memories he made with us, for us – from hikes in the woods, to forging through creeks, to patiently waiting (or politely begging) for holiday turkey – remain.

The struggle is we never know how long we’ll have them. And the reality is that we’ll always believe it to never be long enough.

But while we do have them, they give us so much. And they keep giving, even after they’re gone. All those memories are a never-ending gift – our lives all the better because we had them while we did, and will continue to smile even after they’re gone.