OPINION

Buddy and me

Slowly but surely

Neighbors across the street warned me the big black dog living in the fenced backyard beside us was vicious and mean-spirited.

"He will attack you for no reason. It's best for you if you steer clear of the fence," they warned on that summer move-in day.

And sure enough, Buddy, the black Lab mix that probably weighs 100 pounds, quickly lived up to his bad-boy billing.

The day we met, he came rushing toward the chain-link fence, snarling and baring a set of rather impressive chompers. There may have been a touch of white foam at the edges of his jowls.

Having had dogs across my lifetime and admittedly respecting and admiring them more than some people I'll not name, I resolved to try and turn this canine Mr. Hyde into a gentle Dr. Jekyll.

When he wasn't patrolling his well-mown territory from corner post to corner post, Buddy spent hours surveying the surrounding yards from his elevated perch on the wide stump where once had grown a massive oak.

From there, as king of his wooden throne, Buddy could sound off at anything that seemed amiss in his limited world and return the many barks and yips from neighborhood friends he'd never see.

My initial attempt at befriending Buddy consisted of making mournful, whining dog noises while looking at him across the fence. Strange, I know.

I can't say why I chose those sounds, other than that it felt like soliciting his empathy was the best approach. Within a week his blustering had subsided and I began tossing occasional dog treats to him.

It dawned on me as the days became weeks that Buddy was far more lonely than mean. And I realized he'd interpreted his sense of purpose as devoted protector of his well-marked territory and the young couple and their toddler infant daughter that represented his pack.

More weeks passed. By then I was handing Buddy treats through the fence, albeit cautiously. I was almost as uncertain as he was about placing trust in each other.

By the fall, Buddy was allowing me to rub his neck and ears while forking over those daily treats.

I'd also notice him lying in the corner nearest our driveway whenever I came and went. Before long he'd worn the grass down to dirt in that spot.

I'd always speak to him when exiting the car. He would just stare with his ears perked. No more barking. I knew his expectations, since I was the one who'd set them.

After five months, we had bonded as best buddies (sorry).

Today, three years later, I spend about 10 minutes each day petting Buddy, rubbing his ears and telling him what a good dog he is. He always lifts his large head and closes his brown eyes, relishing every minute.

I tried throwing a tennis ball, several times in fact, because he didn't grasp the game at first. It took Buddy a while to catch on that he was supposed to bring it back each time so I could throw again.

Even then, he'd fetch and return three or four times, then begin panting heavily, plop down, and keep it to himself.

Our treat time has since developed into a game of what I call "high toss" that he thoroughly enjoys. I'd guess it's likely the high point of his day.

I take a treat and back up about five yards from the fence as he eyes my every move without moving a muscle. Then I toss the goodie underhanded as high as I can. At just the right moment, Buddy leaps to snatch it out of the air.

Well, he catches it about half the time, which I consider pretty good, all things considered.

As for those hair-raising growls and gnashing teeth of years past and those sprints across his yard to intimidate--well, they've been replaced by wet, slathery kisses from his large, pink tongue and bouncing attempts to leap over the fence into my lap.

But he still growls and barks at strangers.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the yard, rambunctious Sparky, the mixed breed with thick shaggy hair, and his companions, Bonnie, the sweet-natured white-haired part coyote, and Sadie, the yippie Corgi, have been watching my bonding practices with Buddy.

So naturally they too have come to expect their fair share from Mike's daily Treatapaloozafest (my word).

So now this man who has owned and cared for and medically treated and de-ticked and cleaned up after, and fed and washed and trimmed and played with dogs all his life has discovered the best way of all to scratch his doggie itch.

I can pet and praise and treat to my heart's delight, then head back inside and leave all that responsible rearing part to their owners.

By the way, friends have told me I may well have the largest collection of dog treats in town, even outdoing their masters.

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Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist. Email him at [email protected].

Editorial on 08/19/2018

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