Dear Fat Buddy

I've been thinking about you a lot lately for some reason, little fat buddy ... a whole, whole lot. There hasn't been a day go by since that fateful day in November of 2010 ... the day I cradled you in my arms and you took your final breath ... there hasn't been one day that I don't think about you, my furry friend. But for the last few weeks, my heart and mind have drifted toward you over and over again each day. It's weird, I know, and some people who read this post will think I've gone off the deep end for sure ... but today I read an article about the brains of dogs and the uncanny connection that sometimes forms between a human and a dog, and so I don't care if people think I'm crazy for writing you a letter. Heck, a ton of people already do think I'm loony, so what difference does it make if a few more join the group?

So many times  I wish that I could go for a long walk with you on our trail and tell you everything that's on my heart right now ... that I could pour out all the stuff in my soul to you like I used to when we walked together. I miss the way you would cock your head and look up at me, seeming not only to listen to every word I said as I talked but to understand as well. I miss those walks with you, J.R., I miss them so very much. I love to walk with Ollie, too, but it's different ... he's too busy peeing on everything and barking at all the big dogs we pass to listen to me. He's funny alright, and he makes me smile every single day. I'm so very thankful that he's with me, but Ollie's not the listener you were, little buddy ... no one, human or canine, is the listener you were.

A friend and I talked a couple of weeks ago about you being in heaven ... I can picture you there in my mind, fat buddy ... running and jumping and wagging your tail. I never told you, but one of the hardest parts of the week before you died was when you couldn't wag your tail anymore. I remember the first time you wagged your tail at me, just a little bit, and then more and more with every passing day. The truth is you didn't have much to wag your tail about before you found me, J.R. ... your few years of life had brought you nothing but pain, and humans had hurt you time and time again. I think that's part of why you were meant to be with me ... so that I could love you the way you deserved to be loved, so that you could learn to trust again, so that the last 15 months of your life would be happy ones. I hope your spot in heaven is filled with Cheetos and Milk Bones and butterflies and soft fleece blankets. I hope when you snuggle in for a nap that your little doggie mind dreams about an old gray-haired gal who wrapped you in a blanket and rocked you when it stormed, who rubbed your hurting little back, who read to you and talked to you and watched you play with Julie. I hope you dream about the day you'll see me again, and that you wait at the gates of heaven, wagging your tail and watching for me, fat buddy. 

The truth is it's been a rough couple of years for me, J.R., and sometimes I've wondered if I'll ever be able to really find my smile again. Oh, I can put it on when I have to ... you remember how good I am at covering up my pain, just like you were, buddy ... just like you were. I know that you hurt way more than you let me know, and now I know why, too. You chose to stay with me until you knew that I could go on without you, until you knew that I would keep walking, until you knew that I would wage a strong battle against diabetes. When I tell our story and that you died on World Diabetes Day, people say they get goosebumps ... even they know that was no coincidence or accident ... that was God's way of giving me a lasting reminder of how He used you to save me. You and I both know that's the biggest part of why you came to me, so that I would find out how sick I was. My doctor was right when she said you saved my life, little buddy ... you saved my life. I so wish I could have saved yours in return, furry friend, I so wish I could have saved yours.

I know I thanked you many times when you were with me, but I want to thank you again for what you did for me, J.R., because there's a very special little girl in my life now ... a very special little girl that I wouldn't have ever known if it weren't for you. I wish you were here to meet her ... C.J. is my granddaughter, J.R., and she's pretty incredible. She was at my house on Sunday, and she laughed out loud at me, buddy ... when she laughs, she kind of sounds like the ducks you and I used to see in the creek by the trail. She's moving to Canada in a few weeks with her mom and dad ... Matt's a doctor now, J.R., and he's going to be a professor at a university there. I have lots of reasons to thank you for saving me, fat buddy, but if I had no other reason, C.J. is worth a universe full of thank yous.

There's been a lot of big life stuff that's happened since you left, little guy, and I find myself so often longing that you were here to walk through it all with me. Even as I type those words, fat buddy, I know your spirit will be with me as long as I live ... and I want you to know ... I'm not giving up, J.R. ... I'm not giving up. Thank you, little warrior dog ... thank you.