Here’s the Story of Buddy, as told in my 6th book, Hits, Heathens, and Hippos: Stories from an Agent, Activist, and Adventurer:

Four years after that, Lucy was still going strong, albeit with the help of a daily pain pill and glucosamine tablet. That’s when a third dog, Buddy, adopted us.

I had known Buddy for most of his fourteen years. He was a cantankerous part-Saint Bernard who lived with a woman on our road. Several times over the years, he had nipped at my ankles, though he never drew blood. Then one day Buddy’s life changed. The woman brought home Miley, a cute little pug puppy. Miley was full of energy, and Buddy didn’t like her. He was smart enough not to hurt the puppy, but he soon tired of abruptly waking up from naps with the puppy attached to his face.

To catch a break from all that hyperactivity, Buddy started joining Lucy, Bella, Deb, and me on our evening walks. We always walked in the opposite direction of Buddy’s house, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that we took our walks at the same time each day. He adopted us gradually. At first, he kept his distance as we walked; then he inserted himself into the middle of the pack; later he started hanging out at our house, and finally he refused to go home.

Even when we escorted Buddy to his house, he’d only stay for a minute or so before catching up with us. That’s when Buddy’s owner said, “Just keep him.” She was having health problems and could no longer handle a big dog anyway.

I’m sure the woman also thought Buddy was going to die soon. He was already older than most dogs his size lived to be, no longer walked well, incessantly scratched himself, and was losing hair in clumps. All in all, he was one pitiful, ugly old dog.

Nevertheless, if he was going to be our pet for his final months, and come inside our house, I had to clean him up. As I confirmed later, Buddy had never had a bath. As I confirmed at that moment, Buddy wasn’t a bath kind of dog. The big old Saint Bernard cried through his entire bath but didn’t bite or try to get away.

Over the next few months, we kept Buddy clean, fed him high-quality food, gave him glucosamine for his joints, and took him to the vet for his first ever rabies and distemper shots. He also got plenty of exercise via our walks and the constant company of Bella and Lucy. All of that helped transform Buddy into a version of himself that was barely recognizable. His skin problems disappeared, his fur grew back, and he had a bounce in his step. Most surprising was his temperament change. He was friendly to everyone and became my big buddy, frequently hanging out with me in my writing room.

Aside from Buddy’s amazing transformation, there are two incidents with him that I will never forget. The first happened when we had a mountain lion in the area, and Buddy chased something away from our house. Other than Saint Bernard, part of Buddy’s bloodline might have been hound dog, because he bellowed like one whenever he ran. I could hear him giving chase, deep into the forest. He returned a half-hour later, all proud that he had protected us. A deep slash across his muzzle confirmed his mountain lion encounter.

The second incident happened on one of our walks. The five of us were on the dirt road that descends from our house, when I looked up and spotted a mother black bear and her cub on the hill to the left of us, forty yards ahead. Deb and I gathered the dogs around us and stood there watching as the clumsy cub tried to climb a sapling. It was a beautiful moment, worthy of a nature film—until Buddy couldn’t take it anymore and charged!

“No, Buddy! No!” we screamed.

He raced toward the bears, barking with every stride. As he closed in, he realized the error of his ways, slammed on the brakes, and turned.

Too late!

The mother bear swatted him across the rear end. He yelped and hightailed back toward us with the mother in hot pursuit!

“No, Buddy! No!” we screamed.

Fortunately for all, the mother bear was more interested in protecting her cub than engaging in a confrontation. She broke off her chase before reaching us, allowing Deb and me to break into laughter. Without a doubt, Buddy had set the all-time speed record for geriatric Saint Bernards.

***

Epilogue: Buddy lived with us for five years. Presumably, they were the best five years of his life. He had always been a wanderer, and even at the age of nineteen, he still attempted to make his rounds. Unfortunately, bowels he could no longer control and arthritic back legs he could barely walk on prevented him from reaching twenty. After I found him shivering and cold, unable to escape a shallow ditch he had tried to cross, I reluctantly put him to sleep.