June has marked one whole year without our beautiful Buddy dog.  I haven’t talked about it much in my public space as it feels like quite an awkward subject matter and I was too raw to handle any criticism (which is still the case, to be honest, so please don’t troll me).  I came across a little set of sketches in a notebook from 2014.  They reminded me of the pure Buddy joy and I thought I could share them as a little tribute to mark one year of not having Buddy with us.

Buddy sketches Hannah Longmuir

Amazing things about Bud: he could jump onto hay bales from standing; he liked to hold hands/paws; he had so much sunshine inside him that it leaked out through his wag; twice he wagged so hard he gave himself wag fatigue (a floppy tail); he loved swimming and would belly-flop into any water; he only liked sticks that were at least twice his width; he was scared of bluebottles and would cower in a corner (thunderstorms and fireworks: fine.  Tiny little buzzy fly: terrifying).  He had no idea he was a big dog.  We started every single day with him sitting on my lap for morning cuddles.  His ears were soft like velvet.  He was always happy to see you, even after only 30 seconds apart.  Everyone who knew him loved him (even though he raided their handbags).  Buddy was an absolute legend of a dog and I miss him I miss him I miss him.

The story in brief: Anytime I try to write the story of why Buddy doesn’t live with us anymore I feel like I am trying to justify it and defend myself, which I don’t need to do.  The basic is this: in order to protect the baby we had to keep him and Buddy apart.  It seemed too cruel to keep Buddy separated from the family so we made the absolutely horrible decision to find a better, happier home for him.  I cried for a fortnight.  It took six months of searching to find the right people to look after him.  He went to start a new life in Yorkshire last June.  We’d had him for 8 years (and since he was six weeks old).  We were (are) devastated. When I think it all through, which I do often, I can’t see how it could have gone another way.  I’m still not ok with it though.

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