B is for Bud, Part 2 - by Nan Brooks

                                                             Bud commutes to work
 

And so, as we learned in “B is for Bud, Part 1”, after several months living on the street and evading the dog catcher, Bud was captured and identified by the chip in (but not on) his shoulder.  By a series of fortunate coincidences – or by moments of divine intervention, whichever you prefer – he went to live with Margarette.

When the commander of the Army unit where she worked asked Margarette if she was ready for her “therapy dog”, she thought, “I don’t have a leash, or dog food, or a crate, or …” and said “Yes, sir, I’m ready”.  On her lunch hour, she stopped to pick up a few supplies on the way to the kennel where Bud was waiting. Sometimes life changes suddenly for the better. He went to work with her that afternoon, meeting the wounded, injured and ill soldiers she helped care for.

On his first night at her home, Margarette had to leave for an appointment. She explained to Bud that she would be back soon, as we often do to our pets. But Bud was not so sure. When she opened the door upon her return, Bud shot out of the apartment and ran into a field with a busy road just beyond. Margarette went out into the dark, watching for his plumed blonde tail in the field and knelt down, her arms opened wide. “Bud,” she called frantically, “Bud!”  He came to her open arms and that sealed the deal. She was now his human.

Inside the apartment, Margarette discovered he had torn up the window blinds and realized he had panicked. The smelly pile of poop was further evidence, as was Bud’s cowering. She cleaned up the mess and comforted him. It was the last “accident” he would have. It seems to me that great friendships are often founded on forgiveness.

It turned out that Bud was a fastidious guy who even hated to get his feet wet. For a part labrador retriever, that was surprising. Eventually it became clear that Bud is part golden retriever, part lab, and part chow. His tongue is speckled with purple, his legs are short and his tail is a fancy plume. He has the eager-to-please demeanor of a golden. And he retrieves absolutely nothing. He obeys all sorts of commands and does his tricks but “fetch” just doesn’t make sense to Bud. The vet also determined that he was not yet two years old – a puppy still, who had not yet discovered his bark.

His work at the Warrior Transition Battalion, however, must have made perfect sense to him. First thing every day he checked the perimeter; he walked the hallways  and made sure all was secure. He knew to walk through a doorway first, the better to check for danger and reassure the humans.  Bud made lots of friends and after a while, those friends brought him treats. Every day was payday when he did his rounds.

There was one person Bud did not like, a man we will call Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith did not like Bud and often gave him the hostile side-eye. It must also be said that Mr. Smith was not a popular guy among the humans. One day, Margarette was in her office when she heard deep and very loud barking. Setting out to discover who the strange dog was in the hallway, she discovered Mr. Smith backed up against a wall and Bud scolding him. No one ever discovered what Mr. Smith’s offense had been, but clearly, he had been out of line with mild-mannered Bud. Mr. Smith kept saying, “I’m OK, I’m OK.”  But all the people who had come to investigate the commotion could only respond, “Bud barked! Wow, he is loud. Bud barked!”

Now years later we know that Bud has quite a vocabulary, different barks for different people and situations. He has a particular bark for friends, as do we all, eh?

Next time:  Bud befriends the nurses and gets his rank.