To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship.
- Thomas Moore

I still remember how Buffy came into my life, or vice versa, whichever view works. Buffy is our dog, sort of a Rhodesian-Ridgeback, a breed used in Africa to hunt lions. There is, however, not a single aggressive bone in her. She is very affectionate, and she likes to please – provided she knows you. In her younger years she liked to run until she would pass out, and she is still very protective of my wife, and, now that he is part of her life, our son Patrick.

In that spirit, she put on her best threat show when she saw me first, ready to kill me on the spot if I was to harm her Alpha. Well, history has shown that I didn’t harm her. In fact, Susan and I dated for a very brief period of time, married a few months later, and moved to the far away and undiscovered territories of Western Massachusetts. Buffy and I became good friends, especially after she started scratching the lawn in the backyard which I still – after eight long years – try to culture. The only solution to the problem was to walk her through our three-and-a-half acres of land, just for a short period I thought, to give the grass a chance to grow. That was several years ago, and she still insists I walk her every morning after breakfast and every afternoon when I come home from work.

Susan and I were already married for five years when we added another member to Buffy’s pack. In the beginning we were very cautious and wondered how she would react to Patrick. During the three days that Susan spent in the hospital I made sure that I brought home one of her T-shirts and assure Buffy that her Alpha was still alive and well. In addition I let her sniff Patrick’s hat, one of those disposable little things you get in the hospital, to prepare her for the new arrival. When Susan finally came home we made sure she and Buffy had a few minutes of undisturbed quality time together before I brought the little bundle into the house. Buffy took only a brief and unemotional sniff like she was saying, “Okay. That’s him.”

In retrospective, all the cautionary measures and worries were most probably not necessary. The day Patrick was accepted into the pack, Buffy, now not being the junior member anymore, took on her role as an elder. For the first few days she notified us as soon as the little guy started crying, or when his diaper started to smell. After that, the four hour feeding cycle and the diaper changing became daily routine for her as well.

Needless to say, all the articles we read about dogs and babies were useless. The saying is that you should never ever leave a dog alone with a baby, even if you trust the dog implicitly. Never has there been an article in any of the multiple parenting magazines about “How to protect your dog from your baby.” As of today, Patrick is roughly six weeks short of his third birthday, and he “tortures” Buffy on a daily basis. The interaction between the two of them is nothing short of amazing. Whatever the little guys is doing to her (with the best of intentions, of course, and without being aggressive), she takes it mostly as a game and complies, and it drives Susan absolutely crazy when the two of them whirl back and forth in the living room and the kitchen. In case it becomes annoying, Buffy politely asks to be let out into our garden where she can relax in the sun.

Also needless to mention, the walks with Buffy now includes a third member. The photo in the upper left corner was taken a few weeks ago in the forest close to our house (Click on the photo to enlarge). Buffy hardly ever moves more than thirty feet away from Patrick, regardless of where I am in this whole scenario.

Buffy is now ten years old, and we hope we will have her for a good number of more joyous years. We love her, and the little boy beside her absolutely adores her. She is truly the Grand Old Lady of Log Plain Road.