Buddy the Floppy Ear Corgi

 Those who read this column regularly are familiar with Buddy, our tri-color corgi.  We adopted Buddy in 2009 and, across the years I have written numerous columns about all the things Buddy has taught me.     

 He was picked up starving off the streets of Fort Worth by animal control and given to Corgi Rescue.  When we first met him he was skinny and sick.  But we instantly knew he was right for us.   Buddy and I bonded. He told me his story and I wrote it down in a book for my grandchildren, Buddy the Floppy Ear Corgi. (It’s free this week as an eBook on Amazon). He went with me everywhere and helped put life in perspective.

 Across the years we had pets, mostly mutts and strays that wandered into our lives.  They helped us raise our kids.  Each was different.  “Punkin” was our first. I brought her home on Christmas Day for our three-year-old son.  I was too busy to give her much attention, but the children loved her.  She grew old and blind.

 After Punkin we adopted a cat. Rascal was a gray-and-white kitten our boys picked up off the street.  He was part of our family for fifteen years and made the move with us from Texas to Minnesota.  We picked up a puppy from a Minnesota farm and named him Max.  We thought he would be a small dog, but in six months, he was bigger than our daughter, had eaten all the furniture and dug up the back yard.  We offered him to a good home.   One interested lady tried to take his picture and he ate her camera.  Fortunately, a young couple with a farm adopted him.  We threw in his crate, dog food and anything else we could think of.  We last saw them chasing him down the street. 

 So we went back to cats.  My wife and daughter found a cute black and white kitten that our son named “Fido.”  Our daughter loved Fido.  But, Fido was apparently insulted by our move back to Texas and ran away.  When our daughter left for college we found ourselves in an empty nest, the kids grown and the dogs and cats gone. It was peaceful.  I guess a little too peaceful.   After awhile I realized I missed having a dog. 

 Then, about the time I started writing these columns, we found Buddy.  He was a pup, maybe one year old. He is now what the vet calls a “healthy geriatric.”  Across the years he taught me to live in the moment; to celebrate each day as a gift.  So often I spend time reminiscing or regretting the past and dreaming or worrying about the future.  But Buddy takes each day as it comes.  Of course, it is good to cherish memories and learn from the past.  And it is good to dream and plan.  That is part of what defines us in God’s image.  But I am prone to miss the moment.  Jesus said, “do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself …” ( Mt 6:34).   “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Ps. 118:24).