Chapter 34 - The Span of Life
(originally posted July 22, 2009)

“Please, Moms?”

“Can we, Moms, please?”

Mart and Trixie begged their mother, pleading with their almost-twin eyes, their almost-twin hands clasped in sweet supplication.

Even Brian was doing a little begging, though in his position as eldest sibling he took a more mature approach, quietly pressing his fingers into his father’s arm and promising with his dark, serious eyes to do his part.

Bobby was the only one not begging.  To the rest of his family, he seemed to be too focused on the wriggling ball of dark red fur in his arms.

But in his head, he was planning his next move.

Sure, he was only four.  Sure, everybody treated him like a baby.  But he was smart enough to know that as the youngest child he was somewhat spoiled.  He may have been an unexpected surprise to his parents, but after three children in little more than three years he was perhaps enjoyed a bit more, his parents having more time available to devote to him.

He knew he got his way—frequently.  And he also knew how to get his way.

He stared down at the puppy in his arms and tried to think of something really tragic.  Like his mother spanking him for mistaking her prize mums for weeds.  Or his father sending him to his room without dessert when he wouldn’t eat his lima beans.  Or his brothers and sister running off without him, refusing to play with “the baby”.

Or having to leave Mr. Delanoy’s house without this puppy.

He turned his wide, watery blue eyes up to his mother and let his bottom lip tremble ever so slightly.

A sigh.

“If it’s all right with your father, we can take a puppy home,” Moms said.

“Ruby?” Mart said scornfully.  “It’s a boy dog, Trix!  How about Brick?”

“Brick?  I think you’ve got bricks in your head!” Trixie shouted.

“How about Rusty?” Brian asked, gently interrupting before the bickering could continue.

Mart and Trixie both shrugged grudgingly.  It wasn’t a bad name, but both of them had been hoping to be the one to suggest the name for the new puppy.

“How about Vermilion?” Mart put in, puffing his chest out in pride of his burgeoning vocabulary.

“How many millions is that?” Trixie asked, flushing hotly as her older brothers laughed derisively.  “Fine!  How about Crabapple?  They’re red and he lives here on Crabapple Farm.”

“Yeah, and people will call him Crabby,” Mart retorted.  “That was stupider than Ruby.”

“Yeah?  Well … you’re stupid,” Trixie shouted back, shoving her almost twin for good measure.

“That’s enough of that,” Moms said calmly.  “If you’re going to argue, maybe you shouldn’t have a dog.”

Her three older children looked at her aghast and pressed their lips tightly together to keep any more insults from escaping.

“Bobby gets to name the dog,” Dad said evenly from behind the newspaper.  “No arguments.”

Brian, Mart and Trixie all turned to stare at Bobby.  Their expressions clearly said they had little hope of their new puppy getting an original name.

“Reddy,” Bobby said softly, finally glad of a chance to be heard.

“Reddy, sit.”

The Irish setter, all of eight months old, wagged his tail and licked Trixie’s hand.

“Girls can’t train dogs,” Mart snickered.  He pushed his sister aside and firmly said, “Reddy, sit.”

Reddy jumped up and put his front paws on Mart’s legs and tried frantically to lick his face.

While Trixie held her stomach and laughed, Brian took hold of Reddy’s collar and pulled him off Mart.  “You have to have authority in your voice.”

“I do!” Mart said, his prepubescent voice squeaking a little and making Trixie laugh harder.

Brian stood the puppy squarely in front of him and deepened his voice like his father’s.  “Reddy, sit!”

Reddy sat.

And scratched behind his ear.  And jumped up again.  And chased his tail.  And barked his enthusiasm for this new game.

“We’re confusing him,” Brian said.  “Only one of us should be training him.”

“Well, it should be me,” Mart said.

“Why you?” Trixie asked, stamping her foot indignantly.  “Just because you’re a boy?”

“No, because I’m the smartest.  And because I went to the library and got the book on how to train dogs.”

“I think it should be me,” Brian said.  “I’m the oldest and I’m the one he’ll listen to most.”

While the three older siblings squabbled over who was going to train the dog, Bobby put his arm around the setter’s neck and whispered sweetly into his ear, “Reddy, please sit.”

Reddy sat. 

“Good dog.”  He gave Reddy a biscuit and the two of them watched Brian, Mart and Trixie argue.

Bobby stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him and frowned.  This shouldn’t be a hard assignment.  It wouldn’t be if he knew the answer to the simple question Miss Zayer had written on the blackboard.

Who is your best friend?

“Bobby?”

The hand on his shoulder was warm and comforting and he smiled adoringly at his favorite teacher.

“Are you having trouble getting started?”

Bobby nodded.

Miss Zayer squatted down next to his desk and smiled disarmingly at him.  “You’re a very personable young man.  You must have quite a lot of friends.  I suppose it’s hard to choose just one.”

Bobby nodded again, more thoughtfully this time.  He had a lot of friends at school, but living outside of town had always made it hard to have a “best friend”, someone to hang out with and share secrets.  The Lynches had moved to their big estate just down Glen Road several years ago, but how could he pick between Larry and Terry?  Besides, he knew he wasn’t their best friend.  Twins were their own best friends.

At ten years old, he no longer needed a babysitter, but he couldn’t consider any of the Bob-Whites his best friend.  They were busy with their club, with school activities, learning to drive, dating, preparing for college.  He was still just the annoying little brother.

Who was his best friend?

Miss Zayer appreciated his creativity.  She told him he was born to be a writer with the imagination he had.  With a quick grin of confidence at her, he returned his focus to the assignment and set his pen to paper at last.

“My best friend is a redhead with dark eyes and a cold nose...”

She was the prettiest girl in school.  Everybody told him he ought to ask her out.  He’d never asked out a girl before.  He wasn’t sure he knew how.

“Melinda?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t squeaking.  It had just started doing that in the last week.  “Do you want to come to my house after school today and study for that history test?”

He was really good at history, but Melinda was good at everything.  She probably didn’t need to study with him, or anybody.

“Okay.”

Okay.  Okay.  Bobby replayed the two-syllable response in his head all afternoon long.  Okay.  He was so enamored by her cat-like amber eyes and wavy hair the color of warm caramel that it didn’t occur to him that her answer might be dismissive or unenthusiastic.  Okay.  Another boy has the hots for me.  Big deal.

He floated from class to class the rest of the day and hurried out to meet her after school.  He sat next to her on the bus, but failed to notice she carefully placed her bookbag between them and was too busy chattering with the girl in the seat across the aisle to pay any attention to him.

“I can carry your books if you want,” Bobby offered as they got off the bus at the end of his driveway.

She passed him her bookbag without a word, giving him a smug, feline smile.  As they approached the porch, Reddy came racing around from the backyard, barking a cheerful greeting to his master.

“Ew!” Melinda shrieked girlishly, backing up a few steps.

“Don’t worry,” Bobby quickly reassured her.  “He doesn’t bite.  He’s real friendly.”

“I hate dogs!  They’re loud and hairy and stupid, and they smell.”  She flounced up the porch and into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

Reddy wagged his tail and investigated the strange bag in Bobby’s hand.  He slobbered on it a little, but Bobby didn’t care.

He had suddenly lost all interest in the prettiest girl in school.

Ashley Connor wasn’t the prettiest girl in school.  She had corkscrew curls that were vaguely pumpkin colored and bounced whenever she did, which was often.  She had freckles, scads of them, all over her milk-white skin.  Her eyes were unremarkable, a murky grayish color with pale, red-gold lashes.  She was built like a gymnast, small and compact and flat-chested.  She talked a mile a minute out of too-thin lips, and she was kind of bossy.

She didn’t exactly ask Bobby to be her lab partner; rather she announced it would be so.  “Bobby Belden, sit next to me.  You’re smart, and you can help me ace chemistry.”

It was no surprise to Bobby when she asked him to the spring dance.  He could do little more than nod his compliance as she planned their whole evening without taking a long breath.  “Bobby, will you be my date for the spring dance?  Tell your mom or dad, or whoever’s taking us, to pick me up at seven o’clock.  You know where I live, right?  I’m wearing green, like shamrock green, so dress accordingly and don’t forget to get me a corsage that matches, okay?  My curfew is usually ten o’clock, but I’ll bet my dad will let me stay out ‘til eleven, but only if he gets to meet you first.  Talk about football.  He likes football.  Call me later, bye!”

Bobby had grown up with a bossy girl in the house.  He wasn’t all that sure he wanted to go steady with Ashley, even if she was kind of cute. 

He brought her home after school one day so they could study together.  As they came up the driveway, Reddy came bounding up from the direction of the Wheeler lake.  It was one of the first warm days of the year and he had clearly been enjoying it.  He galloped over to Bobby and Ashley and jumped up and put his muddy paws on Ashley’s nice school clothes.  He licked her face.  He smelled like a swamp.  Bobby braced himself for the outrage.

“Oh, Bobby!  Isn’t he the cutest thing ever!  Is he yours?”  She dropped her books on the ground, fell to her knees and was immediately engulfed in a flurry of stinky, wet, red, dog hair.

Yeah, maybe he did like Ashley Connor after all.

Moms jumped as Bobby slammed the kitchen door shut behind him.  He probably would’ve felt guilty if he hadn’t been in such a foul mood.

“Girls are stupid!” he announced loudly, dropping his books onto the table with a loud crack.  He shrugged out of his thick winter coat and flung it carelessly on a chair.  He kicked off his boots and let them fall wherever—one under the table, one leaning against the wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” his sainted mother asked softly and calmly.

“No,” he grumbled, stomping toward the stairway.  He hesitated with his foot on the bottom step.  Turning back to the kitchen, he picked up his coat and hung it on the peg by the back door.  Then he picked up his snowy boots and deposited them neatly side-by-side on the mat in the mudroom.  Taking his books into his arms, he trudged up the stairs.

Reddy lumbered to his feet from his napping spot between the kitchen and the family room—the best place to trip unsuspecting family members while he slept—and sedately followed his master up the stairs.  His joints creaked a bit more on these cold winter days, and stairs were taken in a walk rather than a run, but he still preferred to be as close to his boy as he could manage.

He nosed open the partially closed bedroom door and padded across the room to where Bobby sat on the floor, his back against the wall.  Carefully arranging his arthritic hind end underneath him, he sat and laid his chin on Bobby’s raised knee.

Bobby took a silky soft ear between his fingers and gently pulled.  “I hate her, Reddy.  I hate her.”  But his voice was quiet, not harsh, and the tone made Reddy wag his tail contentedly.

Bobby spread his legs a little wider and pulled the setter closer to him.  Reddy laid his graying muzzle in the crook of Bobby’s elbow and sighed.  Bobby put his arms around him and buried his face in the dark red fur so no one could see him crying.

Reddy barked a warning and Bobby leaned over the edge of his childhood treehouse to see who was coming.  His guardian’s warning turned into a yelp of happy greeting as he recognized the intruder.  Corkscrew curls tangled by the brisk spring wind, Ashley knelt to the ground, took the joyous setter into her arms and allowed herself to be mercilessly attacked by his lolling tongue.

Traitor, Bobby thought as he glared crossly at the dog.

He and Ashley had broken up Friday night after the baseball game.  It was the third time they had broken up since they had first started dating about a year ago.  Maybe his mother was right, after all.

“Ashley’s a lovely girl, Bobby.  I’m not objecting to her.  I just think maybe you two are too young to be going steady.  Teenagers are moody and volatile.  Of course you may date her.  I just wish you wouldn’t be so serious about it.  You’re only fifteen.”

She spoke from experience, he knew.  Her three older children had all “fallen in love” at a young age.  Only one of them was still with his childhood sweetheart.  And they had spent a long year apart when Brian had followed Mart to Africa.

Diana was kind of “volatile”, but it hadn’t bothered Mart.  It made him hot, he had told Dan (when he thought Bobby wasn’t within earshot).  Bobby would’ve put the blame on moody girls, but both Trixie and Jim had started pointless spats for no apparent reason.  Even levelheaded Brian and kindhearted Honey were prone to quarrel over minor issues.

Moms was right.  Teenagers were too temperamental to be dating seriously.

“Bobby?  Can we talk?”

“I ’spose.”

He heard her sigh in annoyance.  “Are you going to come down?  Or should I come up?”

Purposely sighing more loudly than she had, Bobby swung his legs out over the edge and climbed down the crooked slats nailed to the tree’s thick trunk.  Reddy came over and pushed his nose under his master’s hand and Bobby absently patted the dog’s head.

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” Ashley said in a small, tender voice.

She laid her hand on his where it rested on Reddy’s head.  He took some time to count her freckles before speaking.  “Are you sorry because you’re sorry?  Or are you sorry because you still want me to take you to the junior prom?”

She was quiet for a long moment before she replied saucily, “Well, I already bought my dress and it matches your eyes.” Softening her voice, she added, “Nobody at school has eyes like yours, Bobby Belden.”

He drew his hand away from hers and stroked the long, silky ear of his best friend.  Ashley did the same to the other ear.  As if engaged in some weird new Olympic sport of synchronized dog fondling, they each pulled gently.  Reddy groaned in canine bliss, happy to be in the middle of this loving tug-of-war.

Bobby couldn’t help it.  A grin cracked across his somber face and a chuckle escaped from somewhere deep in his soul.  Ashley’s unremarkable grayish eyes twinkled enchantingly at him and her too-thin lips smiled in a way that made his stomach lurch most pleasantly.

Tugging gently once more on Reddy’s ears, as if the dog cosmically held them together, Bobby and Ashley headed back to Crabapple Farm hand-in-hand.

“Bobby, come quick!”

His mother’s voice was sharp with uncharacteristic alarm and Bobby leaped off the family room couch and hurried to the kitchen.

Moms had been washing the dinner dishes and was now pointing out the window above the sink.  “Reddy fell,” she said.

Without stopping to put on a coat, or even shoes, Bobby raced out the back door and down the steps to where Reddy was sprawled on the snow-packed driveway.  “Reddy!  Are you okay, buddy?”

The setter looked almost sheepish as he gingerly regained his footing.  Bobby carefully checked him over, running his hands down his legs and back.  “I guess I didn’t salt those stairs enough.  I should’ve stayed and watched you.  I’m sorry, Reddy.”

Friends and neighbors called him “the Beldens’ Irish setter”.  The Beldens referred to him as “our dog”.  But everybody knew he was really Bobby’s dog.  He was incorrigible, but he was completely devoted to the youngest Belden and with age had mellowed to obedience—at least for Bobby.  Now he stayed at Bobby’s gentle command and waited while his friend ran inside and returned with the bucket of salt. 

Bobby liberally salted the three steps up to the porch and all the way to the door, even though the covered porch was unlikely to be icy.  Then he set the bucket down and went back to Reddy.  “Okay, let’s go inside, pal.”

Reddy eyed the steps warily, but he trusted the boy at his side.  Carefully, he climbed up and slowly made his way to the back door.  Once inside, Bobby took a towel and carefully dried off his snowy legs and feet, picking the salt crystals out from between the pads of his paws.

“I’m so sorry, Reddy,” he murmured shamefully.  “I guess our days of snowball fights and romping outside in the winter are behind us, huh?  I should’ve kept a better eye on you.  Forgive me?”

Reddy did, of course, giving Bobby a friendly lick on the nose.

“Tell you what…” Bobby lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Moms wasn’t listening in.  “I get my driver’s license in just a few more weeks, and you can get the first ride.  We’ll drive to Wimpy’s and I’ll buy you a burger of your own, okay?”

Reddy answered in a low woof, happy as always to share secrets with his best friend.

Boy, was he ever in a pickle now.

Yes, he and Ashley had started dating a little over three years ago.  Yes, they had been dating without breaking up and without arguing—much—for seven solid months.

But when he had driven her up to the bluffs overlooking the Hudson River, in his mother’s roomy station wagon—not just because his father wouldn’t let him use the new sedan—this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.  He’d prepared for the evening, but he hadn’t prepared for this.

“Bobby?  Do you love me?”

Now would be the perfect time to avert his eyes, take a moment to scratch under Reddy’s collar where he couldn’t reach, or tug affectionately on one of his long, silky ears.  But they hadn’t brought Reddy along tonight.

Pondering her question, he reflected that Reddy had come along on many of their dates this summer.  Ashley never objected, often suggested it herself, and it was one of the many reasons he was always willing to try and patch things up with her.

Reddy was thirteen and a half now, ancient for a big dog like him.  Bobby liked having him nearby whenever possible, treasuring every moment they spent together and safely tucking it away in his memory for a time when he’d need it.

He and Ashley would take Reddy with them for walks in the preserve or picnics by the river, and instead of going to The Cameo to see a movie, the three of them would go to the White Plains drive-in, hiding Reddy under a blanket in the backseat and trying to contain their giggles as they smuggled the old dog in to see Josie and the Pussycats or 102 Dalmatians.

“Bobby?”

Her voice was tinged with impatience.  He could feel beads of sweat on the back of his neck.  If he didn’t answer, she’d get mad.  If he did answer and told the truth, she’d get mad.  If he lied, she’d probably get mad too, because she’d know he was lying.

He opened his mouth to speak, not certain what was going to come out, when his cell phone rang.  Heaving a sigh of relief he hoped wasn’t noticeable, he glanced at the display.  “It’s my dad,” he said as he flipped the phone open.

“Bobby, you need to come home.  It’s Reddy.”

Ashley wouldn’t hear of him taking her home first, ten or fifteen minutes out of his way.  “My dad can come get me if you can’t take me home,” she promised.

His mother met them at the door.

“What happened?” Bobby asked anxiously.

“When your father and I headed up to bed, he tried to follow us up the stairs.  I guess he thought you had already come home and gone up without him.”  Her face looked pinched and pained, as if one of her own children was hurt.  “He fell and then he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—get up, so we called Dr. Samet.  Your father said we should call you, too.”

“Is he—?”

Dr. Samet came into the kitchen just then, a wan smile on his face.  “He’s okay, Bobby.  He probably bruised some ribs when he took that tumble, but nothing’s broken, and I don’t think anything more serious is going on.  He’s bound to be a little stiff, but if he doesn’t show signs of improving in a day or two—or if he gets worse—bring him right in.”

Bobby nodded but didn’t say anything, afraid he would start crying if he tried to voice his gratitude.

While Dr. Samet suggested that Moms put a baby gate at the foot of the stairs to keep Reddy from attempting to climb them alone again, Bobby went into the family room.  His father had set up a bed for the old dog near the open window where he could catch the cool evening breeze.  He gave Bobby a fatherly pat on the shoulder and went to see Dr. Samet out.

Sternly, Bobby said, “You scared me, buddy.”

Reddy whapped his tail weakly on the downy comforter.  When it looked like he was going to struggle to get to his feet, Bobby hurriedly sat down next to him and pulled the nearly white muzzle onto his lap.  “I appreciate you wanting to get me out of a jam, but next time try to use less drastic measures, okay?”

“What jam?”

Bobby didn’t look up when he heard Ashley’s voice.  He scratched Reddy under his collar and affectionately tugged on one ear.  Finally, he lifted that ear up and whispered, loud enough for Ashley to hear him, “I need your help again, pal.  Give her the puppy dog eyes.”

Reddy rolled slightly, baring his belly for a rub and looked pleadingly into Ashley’s face.

She tried to look disgruntled, but she wasn’t strong enough to withstand the puppy dog eyes.  Dropping to her knees, she absently rubbed the old dog’s belly.  She didn’t look at Bobby as she softly murmured, “It’s okay if you don’t love me.”

“Ash, I don’t know if I do or not.  I know that sounds like a cop out, but it’s true.  I don’t want to say I love you and then find out I don’t.  That’s not fair to you.  But I don’t want to say I don’t love you and regret it later when you’re gone.  I think we’re too young to know for sure ... but I want to try and find out.”

She lifted her face and met his steady gaze.  How could he have ever thought her eyes were unremarkable?  No matter what emotion she was feeling, it shone through her eyes with genuine clarity.  Right now, it was appreciation.

“Bobby Belden, you know your honesty is the thing I like most about you.”

He grinned slightly at her.  “I thought my dog was the thing you liked most about me.”

Reddy mustered up enough energy for a low gruff of agreement, which made Ashley giggle and saved her from having to answer.

He heard the crackling of fallen leaves behind him, but didn’t turn.

“Your mom told me I’d find you up here.”

The October wind picked up a little, tossing his curly blond hair across his face.

“It’s nice up here.  Quiet.”

He nodded slightly, not enough for her to notice, probably.

“I’m surprised you didn’t choose the orchard.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, tore his gaze from the small mound of newly turned earth underneath the tree and looked up at the battered old treehouse.

Her voice was soft, not bossy or chattering.  “But this is a good place, too.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse.  “I didn’t want to see him every time I looked out my bedroom window.  And it’s ... peaceful here.”

“It’s a good place to be alone,” she agreed, and after a pause, “Do you want to be alone now?”

He shook his head, this time with enough motion so she’d be sure to see.  She did, and without hesitation came to his side.  She threaded her arm through his and leaned her head up against his shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Bobby.”

“He was an old dog.”

“You had him most of your life, didn’t you?”

“Since I was four.”  He choked back a sob.  “I didn’t want—I didn’t want to—”

She squeezed his arm tightly.  “Bobby, you made the right decision.  You showed how much you loved Reddy by not letting him suffer anymore.  And you stayed with him to the end.”

“I had to,” he said simply.  “He was always there for me.  How could I leave him when he needed me most?”

“Well, it took a lot of heart to do that,” she replied.

Her voice was clear and even, but he thought he heard a sniffle.  He glanced down and saw that her eyes were swollen and her freckled face was streaked with dried tears.  He pressed his lips together and quickly looked away before she could catch him staring.

He could handle his mother’s tears.  Mothers were allowed to cry.  He could handle Trixie’s tears; maybe it was easier because he had told her over the phone.  Even Mart and Brian had sounded like they were holding back for his sake.

But he couldn’t handle Ashley’s tears.  He loved her too much to see her cry.

The realization hit him hard and he almost smiled.

A maple leaf tumbled across the ground and landed on the grave.  It was the same deep, rich crimson as his best friend’s coat.  Even when the wind gusted a bit more, it held firmly.  A fitting marker.

“Do you think you’ll ever get another dog?”

“Yeah.  Someday.”

He could almost feel Reddy urging him on.

“Maybe someday we’ll get a dog.”

“Please, Dad?”

“Can we, Daddy, please?”

His two girls, spitting images of their mother, each pulled on an arm, dragging him back to the Delanoys’ garage.  Their mother stood there, her face carefully arranged to show no expression, taking no sides—the decision was his.  But her eyes, her most remarkable eyes, gave her away.  The interest and enthusiasm shone through with genuine clarity, just as her love for him always did.

And inside the garage, in the middle of a rolling, yipping mass of dark red fur, was a curly-headed blond boy with bright blue eyes.  He was giggling helplessly as the puppy in his arms licked his face, his lolling tongue covering the toddler in one or two rapid swipes.

He hadn’t yet mastered the Belden talent for knowing the best way to cajole his parents into just about anything, the way his sisters had.

But in this case, he didn’t need to.

Bobby squatted down by his son’s side, and the puppy wriggled free of the little boy’s arms and grabbed hold of a shoelace, growling a fierce puppy growl to protect his new best friend.

With a mischievous grin on his face, Bobby turned wide, watery blue eyes up to his wife and let his bottom lip tremble ever so slightly.

A sigh.

“If it’s all right with your father, we can take a puppy home,” she said.

She winked at him as the children cheered, and the man who was no longer a little boy held the puppy close to his little boy heart.

 

 

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Author's Notes

Chapter 34 (4,827 words)

This story was inspired, in part, by a recent reading of the Charles Schultz (Peanuts) biography (which, by the way, I highly recommend).  He was good friends with Lynn Johnston, creator of For Better or For Worse.  She told Schultz she was planning to “kill off” the Pattersons’ beloved sheepdog, Farley, and this shocked and horrified Schultz, who told her not to do it and threatened to “kill off” Snoopy if she did.  But while strips like Peanuts were static in time, Johnston’s comic allowed her characters to age, and she had gotten many comments from readers that Farley was “getting up there”, especially for a sheepdog.  To keep true to her vision, she had to let the dog age and die, and I for one, admired her for it.  I have the book Remembering Farley with the many strips featuring the beloved dog.  I do not write canon.  There will be no endless summers where nobody celebrates birthdays or ages.  There won’t be a billion things happening in their lives in the span of just a few years.  Life will move forward for all my characters.  So, I apologize for killing off Reddy, but at 13 1/2 years, he was “getting up there” (I found several different answers when I looked up the average lifespan of an Irish Setter, but settled on approximately 12-15 years).

I chose not to put dates on this story, but rather to note the passing of seasons and years within the text.  It starts in the spring of 1988.  Bobby is four, Trixie is about to turn 11, Mart is about to turn 12, and Brian will be 14 in October.  The story ends in the fall of 2001, when Bobby is 17 and in his senior year of high school.

It is never stated in canon how old Reddy is or when/where the Beldens got him.  I picked up on the Delanoys from Mary N’s (Dianafan) recent story and it makes sense, as we know Tom, anyway, was an avid hunter.  I picture the Delanoy family not with a kennel, but with one or two dogs they breed for hunting/showing purposes.  I suspect Reddy was not quite up to par in that regard *g* and was given to the Beldens as a gift.  It’s a good way to get a purebred dog, by the way, if that’s what you’re aiming for.  Contact a reputable breeder and ask them about non-show/breeding quality puppies they might let go for a decent price.

Reddy isn’t a terribly original name.  It had to be Bobby who gave it to him, right?  Of course, it could be worse.  I remember that friends of my sister’s, when she was in junior/senior high school, let their preschool aged child name their dog.  She looked around the yard and said, “Shovel”.  Poor dog. *g*

Miss Zayer (name slightly changed) is in tribute to my seventh grade Language Arts teacher, one of my favorites and one of the first to instill a love for writing in me.  At the start of each class, for approximately ten minutes or so, we would write in a spiral notebook.  Monday through Thursday she’d have a topic or question on the board, and Friday was free-for-all.  Of the many things I have lost, thrown out, or let go over the years, that notebook is one of the few I truly regret not having today.  More even than the exorbitant amount of money I spent on Indian Burial Ground. *g*

Surely I’m not the only teenager who let their dog accurately assess the quality of their dates. *G*  If Buddy didn’t like the boy, or worse, if the boy didn’t like dogs or cats, he wasn’t worth my time.

Ashley Connor was first introduced in Chapter 10-Come In.  She’s definitely bubbly.  I like her a lot, but she tires me out to write too much about her. *wink*  She has good taste though, in dogs and boys.  When I first moved to Lexington, my friends here all liked Buddy, but they would pat him, play with him a bit, gently push him off their laps and ask him to go lie down (he was hairy and he drooled a lot).  My friend Diana though (who visited periodically from California) would get down on the ground and pull the 50-pound slobbering, hairy mutt into her lap.  Auntie Diana was Buddy’s favorite!

And again, surely I’m not the only teenager who told her troubles to the dog.  They’re the best see-crud keepers in the world and my Buddy sopped up many a tear of mine over our fifteen years together.

A note on the pulling of Reddy’s ears.  This isn’t Richard Nixon and the incident with his beagles Him and Her. *g*  I used to pull on Buddy’s ears and he loved it, making that same satisfied groaning that dogs do when you scratch their belly or behind their ears.  When I lived at home, he’d invariably lean up against Dad’s recliner and Dad, usually watching TV or reading the paper, would reach down and automatically tug on Buddy’s ears.  When I moved to Lexington, I didn’t have a recliner, just a ratty old armchair, but Buddy would lean up against it and ask for an ear pull.  Mom visited once, without Dad, and sat there.  Buddy leaned.  Mom tugged.  Buddy yelped.  Poor Mom was distraught.  She just didn’t do it “right”.  Only Dad and I could pull on Buddy’s ears in just the right way to create that blissful moan.

Buddy never slipped and fell on snow and ice or on stairs, but I do admit to asking my landlord to switch from a second floor apartment to a first floor apartment when Buddy started having problems negotiating stairs.  And I remember giving him a little boost so he could get on my bed in his later days.

I haven’t been to a drive-in in about a hundred years.  I don’t know if you could take a dog in—it’s your car, after all.  But I can’t imagine it would really be allowed.  Josie and the Pussycats was released in the spring of 2001, 102 Dalmatians in the fall of 2000.  From my experience with drive-ins, they never get movies on the first run.

Dr. Samet appeared in #26-The Mystery of the Velvet Gown as Reddy’s veterinarian.

I chickened out on an actual death scene.  Writing this was cathartic enough.  I would never tell anybody what is the right or wrong thing to do when it comes to making that final decision.  All I can say is that being with Buddy (and last summer my 17-year-old cat Misty) as they passed from life to life was one of the most beautifully spiritual and touching things I’ve experienced and I wouldn’t change that moment, however painful, for anything in the world.  My mom hasn’t been able to do that, dropping off aging cats at the vet’s and leaving, because it’s too painful for her.  But when she asked why I stayed with Buddy, my answer was pretty much the same as Bobby’s: “He was always there for me.  How could I leave him when he needed me most?”  And yes, I remember my mom’s tears when I called to break the news to her, and I remember how my dad seemed to be holding back, for my sake.

Free seamless background tile is from Silvia Hartman's site and the scene dividers are Microsoft Clip Art.

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