Old Buddy

It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Bob sat on the couch, watching a football analysis show on TV. The announcer droned on about statistics and which young players were destined to become the league’s newest stars. Beneath the television’s blare came the clink of dishes from the kitchen. Bob’s wife, Jennifer, washed each dish until it shone. Every now and then, she peeked through the kitchen doorway—not at the television, but at the old dog curled beside her husband—BOB—short for Bucket of Beer, the name the employees at the bar where he’d been found had given him.

BOB had thick golden-brown fur and soft almond-brown eyes. His muzzle had gone white around the edges, and his aging teeth had begun to yellow. His once-powerful shoulders had grown bony, and he slept with ragged snores.

He was well into his golden years, having spent eleven of them with Bob and Jennifer.

Bob had always assumed BOB was part golden retriever, and dogs of that breed generally lived ten to twelve years. Though Bob didn’t know exactly how old BOB had been when he brought him home, he knew he hadn’t been a puppy. He had probably been two or three years old. Even by Bob’s most hopeful estimate, BOB was thirteen now, pushing fourteen. But somehow, Bob had never truly considered that a day might come when BOB wouldn’t be there.

Not until that quiet Sunday afternoon.

“Bob?” Jennifer poked her head through the doorway, her brow furrowed.

“Huh?” Bob grunted, still focused on the latest news about his beloved Cowboys.

“Honey, BOB looks a little under the weather. His eyes are kinda glossy…”

Bob glanced down at the dog resting against him. BOB opened his eyes just enough to look up at him.

He gave his tail a small thump.

“He’s just old.” Bob smiled and scratched behind BOB’s ears. “We’re just two old men.”

Jennifer dried her hands on a dish towel but didn’t return to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you take him to the vet tomorrow?” she said. “He hasn’t been eating much, and lately he’s been struggling to get up after he lies down. Maybe it’s arthritis.”

Bob grunted his agreement, though he wasn’t particularly worried. BOB had always been strong. Whatever this was, he would bounce back.

At the veterinary clinic the next morning, BOB stood patiently while the veterinarian examined him. Bob stroked his dog’s head while the veterinarian pressed gently along his abdomen and beneath his front legs. “Pretty healthy for an old guy, isn’t he?” Bob laughed, rubbing BOB’s ears between his hands. “Must be all those eggs. Keep his coat shiny.”

The veterinarian’s smile faded as her fingers returned to the area beneath BOB’s front leg. “Mr. Northfield, his heart and lungs sound good, but I’ve found a lump here. It may be contributing to the trouble he’s having when he stands.”

A lump? Bob stared at the place beneath BOB’s leg as though he should have noticed it himself.

“Like a bug bite?” he asked.

Something in the veterinarian’s expression made Bob’s stomach tighten. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. “I don’t know what it is yet,” she said. “I’d like to take a sample and run bloodwork. Depending on what we find, we may also need X-rays or an ultrasound.”

Three days later, the clinic called and asked Bob to bring BOB back. Bob sat beside BOB in the same examination room, waiting for the veterinarian to explain the results. When she entered, she closed the door quietly behind her.

“It’s cancer,” she said. “It has already spread.”

Bob heard the rest in pieces: weeks, perhaps less; pain medication; quality of life; a peaceful goodbye before the suffering became too great…

Bob didn’t speak on the drive home. At every stoplight, he reached across the console and rested a hand on one of BOB’s silky ears.

Jennifer met him at the door. Bob kept his eyes on BOB, who was still in his truck.

“It’s cancer.” His voice sounded distant, as though it belonged to someone standing across the room. “It’s everywhere.”

Jennifer covered her mouth.

“She said he may only have a few weeks. Maybe less. She said we should let him go before he starts suffering.”

Before Jennifer could answer, Bob turned back toward the truck, leaving the front door open behind him.

“Bob, wait.” Jennifer’s voice broke behind him. “Where are you going?”

Bob drove until the houses thinned, the road narrowed, and the river appeared through the trees. It had always been BOB’s favorite place, especially when he was young. He used to charge into the current after sticks, barking whenever the water carried one beyond his reach.

Bob pulled onto the shoulder and turned toward the dog in the passenger seat.

BOB lay with his head against the seat, but when Bob looked at him, his tail tapped once against the upholstery. Bob saw no fear in him—only trust, and the same simple joy and he had carried through every year of his life.

Something inside Bob finally gave way, and he began to sob. The tears kept coming as he climbed out and circled to the passenger side.

BOB gave a small whine as Bob slid one arm beneath his chest and the other beneath his hindquarters. The old dog felt lighter than he should have.

He gently gathered him up and began to carry him down to the river. Bob spread his jacket across the riverbank as a makeshift blanket.

He laid BOB on it and settled beside him on the gritty sand.

The setting sun painted the river orange and red.

The river murmured over the stones, softening the noise of the occasional car behind them.

Bob sniffed, his face hot and sticky. He felt a warmth on his knee and looked down. BOB rested his head on Bob’s knee and looked up at him with the same solemn brown eyes he had worn that first night in the bar’s parking lot.

“You saved my life, boy.” Bob whispered. The words were so true they seemed to drift across the river. “In every way.”

BOB licked his lips, his ears perking forward. Always listening.

“I wish I could do it for you too,” Bob’s lip trembled. “But I don’t know how. Not when you’re dying. I don’t know how to live without you, old buddy.”

BOB let out a soft whine and nestled closer.

The last light of the sunset glimmered in BOB’s eyes. His mouth relaxed into the same goofy smile Bob had loved for eleven years.

For one impossible moment, Bob could have sworn BOB was the one trying to be strong.

Bob lifted his eyes to the river.

The last of the sunlight trembled across the water.

Somehow, he knew he’d never watch another sunset without thinking of BOB.