My Buddy

Five days ago - Easter Sunday, March 23rd - I went to Ponderosa State Park to x/c ski early in the morning. Given the holiday, I hoped to have the park to myself. I wasn't disappointed. The snow was crusty with just a dusting of fresh. I set out reveling in the quiet and aloneness.

I wasn't alone for long.

Within five minutes, a dog appeared and trotted alongside me. Tongue hanging, tail high, smile on his face, he just fell in beside me, keeping pace. Black torso and head, black floppy ears, the long nose of a German Shepherd, but silvery legs and feet, a mask, and long tail curled over his back like a northern breed dog.

A handsome mutt.

I stopped to say hello, putting out a gloved hand in welcome. He very slowly and cautiously approached, sniffed but backed off and just looked at me.

I kept expecting to hear a call, expecting him to turn and go back the way he came, back toward the parking lot and nearby homes.

He dashed those expectations quickly, by heading down the trail. His gait said he was having fun.

I followed, intrigued. And happy. I've so wanted to bring my girls here, but dogs are allowed only in a small portion of the park. This wasn't that portion. In this scenario, though, I was able to ski with a great dog, and if anyone confronted me about it, I could honestly say, "He's not mine!"

I found myself encouraging him. "Good boy!" and "What a good dog!" as we skied together in this beautiful forested park. We came to an intersection, and he trotted ahead of me, going straight. I took a left and wondered if he'd continue on his way alone, or come back and follow me. I didn't say anything to him, but I secretly hoped he'd follow me.

He did. "Good boy!"

I started calling him Buddy. He was being a good buddy, and he needed some sort of name. He mostly stayed ahead of me, occasionally leaving the groomed trail to follow a scent into the forest. But he always came back and fell in alongside me, keeping pace, smiling.

I reached a point where I decided to turn back toward the parking lot. We'd been out for close to an hour. I knelt down and put my hand out. Buddy came right up to me, shyly, tail wagging. He leaned into my chest and arm with his head and let me hug and love him.

What a dog. I was falling in love with Buddy.

No collar. No ID. Very puzzling.

I headed back toward the parking lot, thinking surely when we got there, near homes, he would continue on his way, to his own home. But he didn't. He stuck right by me. There was a couple in the parking lot now, getting ready to ski. They didn't recognize him. I asked the ranger in the office; no, she didn't recognize him either. After a conference of all the humans, it was decided that Buddy would wait in the ranger station while the couple - she volunteered at the local animal shelter, as luck would have it - went skiing with their two dogs and then they would take him to the shelter if no one came by looking for him by that time.

I had been debating whether to just bring him home with me. I could tell, having spent 90 minutes with him, that he was a gentle soul, and that my girls would adore him. But I was curious how he would react to the couples' two dogs.

I asked if we could try introducing the dogs. The couple said sure, and the woman brought their "more aggressive" female on a leash to meet Buddy. The female's ruff was up and she was acting rather dominant, but Buddy just took it in stride, sniffing in normal dog fashion and remaining totally calm.

An awesome dog. I debated some more. Should I just take him home with me and call the shelter in case anyone looked for him? But realistically, the sooner he went to the shelter, the sooner he could be legally adopted.

I left him with the ranger, knowing the shelter volunteer would take him there later.

Driving home, I couldn't get him out of my mind. Should I adopt him? He seemed between 2-4 years old, judging from his teeth. Skinny, but otherwise in great shape, so if he was a stray, he hadn't been for long. Who could possibly give up such an amazing, good, mellow dog? I began to think that if he was a stray, someone must have lost their job and/or home and had to move away, simply leaving him behind. That's been happening a lot lately.

As I neared home, I thought of friends in Seattle who winter in this area. Their Golden died at the age of sixteen, about five years ago, and they'd discussed getting another dog. Buddy would be perfect for them, and they for him. I called them as soon as I got home and planted the seed, saying I'd foster Buddy until they could get here if they wanted him. They said they'd think about it. The next day, they said they'd drive over from Seattle on Wednesday - they had other business to take care of here anyway - and meet Buddy.

The shelter was closed Monday, so I wasn't able to find out if Buddy was still there, or if they knew who he was. Tuesday I called, and he was there. They found a microchip, but the phone numbers had been disconnected. They would keep trying. If no owner was found, after five business days, Buddy could be adopted.

Wednesday I went to visit Buddy. He was happy to see me. He was so calm, friendly, mellow. Apparently a dog that had just given birth lunged at Buddy as he was being walked by where the pups were, and he hardly flinched and didn't react in anger. He never growls, he doesn't bark; he wags his tail and lifts his paw for more attention and love, looking at you with gorgeous brown eyes.

I relayed all of this information to my friends.

We all visited Buddy today. These photos were taken at the shelter. The friends are still thinking about adopting him - the wife is a go, the husband isn't so sure. I hope they do. I really, really hope they do. Because otherwise I'm not sure what I'll do. This shelter places animals quickly; they don't screen the humans who adopt. Buddy deserves the best possible home, not just any home.

As a trainer and dog camp director, I've been around so many dogs, almost all of them really great dogs. But there's something about Buddy. The shelter workers have fallen in love with him, too. He's an old soul in a young dog body.