My beagle, Lucy, was my best buddy. She was by my side during several illnesses, including my recovery from open-heart surgery. She was there when my husband, John, passed away and I faced life as a widow. For 10 and a half years she went with me everywhere.
The house felt so empty after she died. Being outside was unbearably lonely without her. “Jesus, I need another little buddy,” I said one day while I took a walk—alone.
I considered going to the Humane Society, but the thought of seeing all of those animals abandoned and in cages upset me. Finally I decided to call them up and ask if they had any small dogs in need of a home.
“Not at the moment,” I was told. “But you can keep checking back if you like.”
I called the shelter every day after that. Weeks went by. No little buddy. One morning at church I looked up and repeated my prayer: Please find me a little buddy soon!
On my way home I drove by the street the shelter was on. Inexplicably I found myself turning the steering wheel. Odd.
A little cocker spaniel greeted me as I edged through the door. He was with a woman talking to the staff members at the front counter. I went on back to the animals’ cages. Just as the person on the phone had said, the dogs there were all big. Then the woman with the cocker spaniel came into the back. I realized she was giving up her dog to the shelter. I patted her arm and gently asked her about him.
“I recently had a serious injury and need to have surgery,” she explained through her tears. “I won’t be able to take care of him again or even walk him.”
The attendant put the little spaniel in a cage. He stood up with his front paws on the bars and barked as if to say, “No!”
“I’ll take him!” I said. Something said he was meant for me.
I went right up to the desk to fill out the adoption paperwork. “What’s his name?” I asked.
I should have guessed. His name was Buddy.
