An Attaboy For Buddy

Buddy is a border Collie, or Border Collie Mix, that somehow survived Hurricane Katrina.
Buddy was torn from his owners by raging flood waters. No doubt traumatized, yet physically whole... Buddy found his way across the country to be rescued and adopted by my close friend, a Private Investigator here in the Seattle area.

Buddy is mid-sized dog, black and white with a long wagging tail, happy smile. Buddy one of those dogs that never strays and always listens, Buddy is very protective of my friend and her daughter and very kind to strangers. Wherever my friend goes in her vehicle, Buddy goes with her... just as my little rescued pup, Bubba, goes with me.

I rescued Bubba from a crack head pit bull fighter. Bubba was intended to be used as bait.
He's a little Dorkie -- half Dachshund, half Yorkie -- and was a puppy when he was going to be fed to the Pit Bulls, who were also fed gunpowder, to make them more vicious.

When I grasped Bubba's impending fate, I convinced the people who owned Bubba to give him to me and let me save him. They agreed, the only stipulation was, I always keep his name Bubba.

So Bubba drives with me almost every day, every where I go.
Yesterday we went 297 miles.
My Trailblazer with its tinted windows is a huge playhouse for Bubba, though he usually hangs in the passenger seat sleeping or sticking his nose out the window.

When I leave the car, he sleeps on the drivers seat or beneath it, by the brake and accelerator pedals on the floor, until I return.
When I/we need to walk after long hours of driving he's a great little watch dog and company keeper.
When its too hot for him to join me and I must leave him home with our big dog, Zen, something is always missing in my day.

Buddy, my friend's dog is the same way. He stays with my friend in her SUV, on her days of endless drivings, meetings, kid wrangling, investigations... comings and goings.

My friend said the only thing Buddy does not like is water and baths -- which makes sense, Buddy being a hurricane Katrina Survivor.

So when I meet up with my friend during our daily rounds every now and then... our dogs hop out of the car and accompany us while we walk or meet.

Now...
I cut now to the chase of this little story.

My aforementioned Investigator friend called this morning to tell me Buddy was attacked by a Pit Bull yesterday with "one of those huge giant heads."

I...a lifelong dog owner... and Investigator of dog attacks... did not feel good about this situation the moment the words came out of her mouth.
In fact, my response was visceral. I felt my stomach turn as I visualized a torn and tattered little rag-doll Buddy, if he still existed at all.

The good thing about talking with other Investigators is you don't have to ask then,
"and then what happened?"
No prompting required.
Such was the case as my friend continued the tale on her own.
And the ending totally blew me away.

It appears, my friend who was elsewhere yesterday and could not take Buddy in the car, had an adult female friend take care of Buddy. The friend took Buddy on his daily walk him through what many would perceive as a safe, affluent, friendly neighborhood when... from out of nowhere... said huge-headed, wild-eyed, unrestrained Pit Bull became a satanic canine Scud Missile aimed at Buddy and Buddy's surrogate commander.

A dogfight of massive proportions ensued.
The battle became a war.
Little Buddy held his ground against the single terrorist cell and bit back.
Buddy drew the attacker's blood.
The Pitbull retreated!

There was a long silence while I absorbsed what I had, until that point, believed was impossible.

"Buddy won?" I asked incredulously.
"Buddy won!" my friend said jubilantly. "The Pit Bull was bloodied and gave up!"

"You buy that Buddy a fillet mignon!" was what I should have said.
Instead, I said nothing because I was stunned.
I have investigated more dog attack cases than I could count.
The attacking dogs always win.... until the authorities get involved.
Yet in this case, there was not a speck of blood on little Buddy.
The Pit Bull on the other hand was bloodied and hurting.

My friend said a kid came running from the area where the Pit Bull emerged. The kid said they were just watching the Pit Bull for the day when it ran out of the house or yard. There was discussion, deliberation and ultimately, the decision was made to to let separated dogs lie.
So no one called the police or animal control. Everyone, canines and humans, parted ways, leaving this story in the wake.

My friend said Buddy is tired and appears well, though she may take him to the vet today for a look-see before the vets go into lock-down for holiday weekend.

Meantime, I have been pondering this little miracle all morning and my hunch is this:

For Buddy, the raging waters of Hurricane Katrina and the Raging Pit Bulls were the same kindred evil spirits which required an instantaneous and primal response to survive.
In my experience, the Pit Bull on attack considers humans prey. In the Pit Bull's head, Buddy was just the pesky little rug rat in the way.

So here's a simple little "Attaboy" post.
Just one for the good guys, the best friends, the true heroes.
Here's to Buddy... and all like him... who make our lives better just by being in them.