Don't call me a hero.

 

 

by Stacy Riedel

Kids, I tell you.

Buckley was at it again. If you aren't the obsessed fan you should be of Banana Wishbone, you probably don't know who Buckley is. Well, I will tell you if you just stop begging. Buckley is my first born dachshund, and he's a little on the insane side. Despite having a very special bond with me and one that is unique among the relationships I share with all three of my dogs, he also sometimes wants to hurt me. He is, in essence, a teenager. He loves his mama, but he also tells me on a daily basis that he hates me.

Case in point: two nights ago I was resting peacefully in my bed, dreaming I'm sure about doughnuts, when suddenly a feeling of dread came over me in a wave of panic. My eyes popped open and my heart was a-racin'. Something was noticeably off. I looked at the clock. It was 4:09 in the am. As in still dark out. As in premium REM time.

When you're exhausted and it's 4am and you jolt awake, you don't spring to action. You spend a couple of minutes fighting it, because everything in you wants to be wrong about this weird feeling that's come over you. So I resisted for a bit, hoped I'd go back to sleep, but this nagging ooginess came over me. You know that feeling you get when your twin is being shot in a bar fight on the other side of town? It's kind of like that. You just can't ignore it.

So I sat up, felt around for all the dogs. Tater was in her usual station, by my crotch. Pedro was to my right, eyes open, wondering what I was up fussing about. But no Buckley. I thought to myself he might be sleeping in the kitchen, as he often does on warm nights. He's a man. He needs his space.

But this wasn't a warm night. It was actually quite chilly in the room, as a light drizzly rain had moved in overhead while I slept. It's on this exact type of night that Buck sleeps in only one place: my armpit. He loves pit stank on an evening such as this. So I said to myself, "Buckley needs me." Out loud. Just like that. Like Batman.

All of a sudden I heard it. The cry of my child, my beloved wiener doggie, somewhereoff in the distance. The whimper though was kind of like this bizarre omniscient noise from whose direction you can't quite pinpoint. It's just sort of everywhere. Kind of like when you lose your cell phone in the couch cushions or something, and so you call it, but every room you walk into trying to track the ring feels like one room away from where you're supposed to be.

I got out of bed and put on my bathrobe, slipped on my slippers, as the name would imply, and made my way around the house. Hair in every direction but the way I intend it to, blind without my glasses, Buckley's cry is getting further away from me no matter which direction I go. Finally I returned to the bedroom and saw Pedro, doing the Lassie thing by the back door, looking distressed. "Ok, buddy, take me to Buckley." I know it sounds crazy, but I think Pedro speaks English, because out to the yard he headed.

Great.

Did I mention it had been raining?

No puddle and subsequent soggy slipper is going to keep me from saving my Bucks, so out I went. It was freezing, the wind was whipping my hair in a Medusa like fashion. I'm sure I was lovely. But the cry, it was coming closer to me the further I slopped around in that soupy mess. "Where are you, Bucks?" No bark, no "Over here, Ma!" to indicate where he was exactly and what the problem was. Pedro paced the fence like a boxer preparing for Round One.

I was blind. I couldn't see a thing. Realizing I was worthless without my glasses, I ran back inside and grabbed them and a flashlight and tracked nice size nine footprints all through the bedroom. Knowing my boy was in trouble, there was no muddy puddle too big. I darted back outside, now moist from my head to my toes with the spooky mist that lay like cobwebs in the night. Wow. That was pretty bad. Moving on.

Glasses on, I scanned the bushes with my flashlight, looking for Buckley stuck to a branch by his collar, or perhaps injured in a one-on-one with a bunny rabbit. Pedro though, he looked at me like I was crazy and motioned for me to come his way. Running the flashlight along the fence line, Buckley's face suddenly popped into view, looking absolutely f*cking terrified. And I would be, too if I were him. Buckley had somehow, and this mystery is still not solved, gotten on the other side of the fence into the neighbor's yard, and was stuck, and judging by the state of him, had likely been there for quite some time.

I know what you're going to say. Stace, no biggie, he just squeezed through a small gap while in pursuit of a squirrel or some shit. No, Captain Genius Face, that's not possible, for when we moved into our house we took painstaking efforts to block off or seal every possible escape route in that fence, for Buckley was making it a habit to go for little adventures without telling us or even leaving a note. The fence is so well sealed that if a bunny miraculously makes it through, that thing ain't gettin' out, because he can't find that one perfect spot he came in from. And thus, Buckley makes meatloaf out of him.

But the problem at that moment was not how in the hell he got over there, it was how I was going to get him back. I'm not the best fence hopper. I can get my ass over the waist-high gate at the yard's entrance, as I've had to from time to time, but this one was a bit taller, and certainly unstable enough to collapse under my weight. This fence is so old it looks like something you'd see in one of those old dust bowl photos. It yaws to the right and is waiting for the right wind to sweep it up and into the atmosphere. So hopping over was not an option.

I tried everything. I stood on a bucket and dangled my arms over the side, like Buckley was going to be logical and hand me his little paw and go limp as I pulled him to safety. Na-ah. Not this dog. He was going to make it as difficult as possible for me. Every time I'd so much as be in grazing distance of him, he would shoo away like I was going to punish him or something. And no, this is not the knee-jerk reaction of an abused dog. This dog gets zero discipline. We have a very complicated relationship. I'm letting him find his place in the world. Telling him what to do makes him want to do the opposite. It's a blog for another day.

I realized my only option then was to sneak in my neighbor's yard by actually trespassing and walking in through the gate. Sorry, Lynn. So at 4am me and my soaking wet bathrobe walked out my front door and over to her gate, opened it as quietly as possible, thinking to myself Please, God, no security lights, please don't let me trigger the high beam. Luckily Lynn's got as shitty of lighting in her yard as I do, and so since I haven't been arrested, was able to penetrate her yard without detection. Hm. Maybe I shouldn't have typed that.

Sure enough, Buckley saw me and raced to my arms, caked in filth and mud, and licked my face even wetter. Like I said, it's very complicated between us. He has no idea how much he needs me until moments like these, but then I'm sure he'd say the same thing about me.

He's traumatized now. When we made it back to bed after a semi-thorough 4am towel-down, he wouldn't sleep. He sat there with his tired eyes wide open, recalling memories of his ordeal like a Vietnam Vet. I tried to soothe him, but admittedly I fell asleep before I could see his PTSD through. This was something he would have to work through on his own. But I'm here for him if he wants to talk.

So this is my Buckley. The last couple of days he's been, and I don't want to jinx it, nice to me. He hasn't bitten me for clipping his toenails, and he actually comes when I call him. It's just bizarre. I think he just needed that reminder. That I'm always here for him, that I will always save him, and that if he pisses me off enough, I could easily lock him away in the prison that is my neighbor's yard. And don't you forget it.

Comments

[mmm-maria]

Stacy your story is aaaw.............some!!!!!
Went last night to a comedy show laugh my ass of!!!
Read your story and her again I had tears in my eys!
Keep going love your story!!!!!!!
Manuela

[Stacy Riedel]

YES! Manuela! SO great to know you're reading this! And thank you for all your support. Miss you!