From my early days . . .
My early days and months were shrouded in a mist I could not penetrate. My earliest recollections started at an Animal Rescue Center, when one day before the end of my residence there, a nice friendly couple took an instant liking to me, adopted me, and made me very much at home in their house. On the way to my new digs my new mistress gave me the name "Buffy" perfectly describing my fur coat. I soon learned to listen to it, in addition to "sweetheart", "sweetie" and the shortened "Buff". However, nothing worked better than opening the door leading into the back yard. I came a running when ever I heard that sound.
My first visit to the veterinarian was quite pleasant, if you don't count the needle sticks. I was given a clean bill of health as Dr. Lawler recognized me as a very laid back Cocker, most likely of pure English descent. Even my fur coat looked good and clean considering I had been living on the street just a few days earlier. For the vaccinations I was given a bright shiny medal which I wore proudly on my collar.
My early puppy (house) training served me well in this great indoor environment. The nice fenced in yard was good to play and romp around in. At first I was restricted to a tiled kitchen area when my master and mistress left me alone at home to watch the property. I soon learned how to push aside the temporary barriers when I was left alone in the house, much to the dismay of my new owners. I persevered one day and from that day forward I was given the run-of-the-house and allowed to look out of any of the nearly twenty windows, over windows sills low enough for my Cocker Spaniel legs. I watched all sorts of people and cars going past my front window. Only when I saw someone or something new did I speak up, other times I reserved my barking for extreme circumstances. Delivery people fit into the "extreme" category.
In place of annoying barking, I introduced MY deep throated growl to my care givers to get their attention. Throwing my head back without showing teeth, the growls came from deep within. Soon I was given treats after repeat performances. My people were real easy to train.
Loud noises never bothered me, be it thunder, fire crackers, the vacuum cleaner, or even the lawn mower.
As time progressed . . .
Visitors were always greeted with caution and an active nose. Once past that point to a state of acceptance and the visitor found a place to sit, it was "lap time". In their lap! Old friends I greeted with wiggles of my stubby tail and my always busy nose. Only once, as I recall, was the greeting process cut short when a visiting grandmother bribed me with a scrumptious cookie as the door opened. So much for introductions - I found a new friend bringing eatables.
One of my favorite times was my "first thing in the morning" Breakfast, and Dinner which should have been served way before 4:00 pm. Snacks and little treat of doggie cookies, pieces of rice cake, and the occasional human food handouts made my days and years joyful. Belly Rubs, Ear Scratches, Hugs, Kisses, and any possible Body Contact was always welcomed and enjoyed. I especially liked the many "Spock Mind-Meld" type thought transfers between my Master an me. Pressing our foreheads together was the ritual, although, from my end, no thoughts were ever conveyed. It was fun any way and we did this often.
Over time my collection of toys that squeaked, rattled, or were just fun to bite into and shake around grew into quite a large number. Occasionally there was some dismemberment, but after all, they were my toys to have fun with. Those remaining are still in an overflowing basket near the fireplace.
The occasional visits to a kennel I tolerated well. It was always good to return home to my familiar places to snooze, be it any one of the two couches, an over sized rocking chair(which became my own), the big bed in the master bedroom, my own private bed in the corner of this bedroom, or any other carpeted area in the spacious house. Even the cool tiled floor areas felt good from time to time.
Maturing into adulthood . . .
From as early as I can remember, throw and fetch was not my thing. Oh sure, chasing whatever was thrown was fun and engaged in readily. Bringing "It" back just to having it tossed away again was not my form of play. If I just played with "It" for just a bit, my owners would get the idea that retrieving was not in my heredity. Chasing a bouncing Super Ball resulted in serious consequences in November 2004. I accidentally swallowed that little thing. Only by opening my stomach did Dr. Caffey remove the ball. Needless to say, I never got to play with a Super Ball again.
Throughout my years searching for things with my sensitive nose garnered me all sorts of bugs, bumble bees that seriously upset my stomach during the night, partially eaten apple cores that the birds gave up on, and more things than I can remember. I ate them all.
Then there came the time I was losing my girlish figure. My thyroid gland was getting tired of keeping up with my needs. Daily pill popping was my specialty. Any pill, as long it didn't taste bad, went down like candy. Put my meds and vitamin gently into my mouth and they were gone.
My twilight year . . .
My health started to fail in late July 2006. Hard as my Master and the veterinarians tried, my body was reaching the end of about twelve wonderful years living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I thank both my Mistress and Master for the quality of life afforded me over these years.
Epilogue . . .
It is because our hearts and souls are with Buffy wherever she is in doggie heaven, that we are able to put into words her "Dog's Tale" for you to read. Thank you Buffy, from the bottom of our hearts, for over eleven memorable years and your ever trusting nature in us as your care givers.
Sharon & Herb Palm