Pet Name: Buddy
Breed: Cocker Spaniel
Age: 15
Sex: Male
Date of Adoption: September, 1994

Buddy found us at the Daytona Beach Humane Society in 1995. A young woman came upon a beautiful black and tan British Cocker Spaniel wandering about, and took him home. Convinced that such a dog must belong to someone, she placed an ad in the newspaper. There were no replies. She kept him for about a month, but quickly realized that the demands and energy of a puppy did not segue with her tiny apartment and long work hours, so she brought him to the local dog shelter.

Something inspired Greg to stop by the Humane Society that day, even though we weren’t really looking for a dog at the time. Buddy had been in residence about 40 minutes, when Greg saw him. Something passed between them at first sight, and Greg announced his claim then and there. It took several days to complete the adoption. Greg went to the shelter every day to spend time with Buddy, who was always quite frantic with joy to see him. Finally, our dog was allowed to come home with us.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Buddy’s first years with us were all about bonding. He was so happy to have a permanent family, and so intent on keeping us, that his mission became that of keeping as close as possible to at least one family member at all times. It became de rigueur for Buddy to pin me against the kitchen counter while I was preparing meals by placing the full length of his body against my ankles and leaning the weight of his body against them. Once, Greg, standing on a six foot ladder to prune some tree branches, glanced down to find Buddy perched on the very next step of the ladder. He did the same thing when Greg and the boys cleaned the rain gutters, only this time he clambered all the way onto the roof itself. And, of course, he wanted to sleep in our bed, ride in our car, go to the beach with us, and do all of the other things that the rest of the family was doing. After all, he was one of the guys now.

As he matured, and became more secure, Buddy transformed into quite the dog about town. He never missed a neighborhood event, from swimming with the kids in Gail’s pool, to his usual morning scrambled egg breakfast with the Nortons. And he puts in an appearance in a couple of the Fort’s family photos, as well (including Katie’s Gone with the Wind sweet sixteen party, where he plays the role of Beaufort, Gentleman Dog of the South). He was the only dog I’ve ever known who had his own social calendar. He loved to “go calling’ but would always show up back home, happy and ready for a nap, in due time. If too many minutes elapsed, I would walk the neighborhood, where someone was sure to say something like “Oh, Buddy…I think he’s with Peanut, grilling hamburgers at Bob and Jill’s.” All other venues failing, I would tramp next door to Sampson’s pen. Sampson is our next door neighbor’s Angus bull. Sampson and Buddy struck up an unlikely friendship when Sampson was just a calf, and it stuck. It was not unusual to find them lying companionably on either side of the pen, sides touching through the fence wire, just soaking in the day. One of my favorite memories is of our neighbors, Mary and Jo, who, as they were heading to the airport for a two week stay in Ireland, suddenly remembered that they had left Buddy in the house, and had to turn around and go back home to let him out. Sure enough, there he was in the hallway, wagging his tail, and apparently so much a fixture that they had forgotten that he did not actually belong there.

Several years ago, he went missing for an entire day. I had already frantically printed and posted “lost dog” signs, walked for miles, and notified the local pet shelter, before it was revealed that Buddy had wandered over to play with the Stamper’s Sharpei, Nancy, just as Vic Stamper was coming off of his night shift at Bert Fish. Vic made pancakes and sausage for both of the dogs (and himself, of course) and then they all climbed into Vic’s bed and slept the day away. I was a wreck, but Buddy was well fed, rested, and feeling distinctly simpatico.

So, in early December, when Buddy became ill, the whole neighborhood began to ask about him regularly. He made his last neighborhood round on a starry Tuesday night, in our yellow gardening wagon which we piled up with blankets, and quite enjoyed himself.

Buddy’s patrician looks contrasted strongly with his amiable, slightly goofy demeanor. He did love to dress up, and always took pride in his extensive bandanna wardrobe, wagging his tail furiously and wiggling from head to toe whenever we tied a fresh scarf around his neck. He had a tremendously loving heart, and very little ego. When we brought our little Yorkie, Clementine, into our home five years ago, he made her his personal project, teaching her how to play with toys, handle cats, hunt lizards, and warn raccoons and armadillos away from the family homestead. He was amazingly patient with her, stepping aside to let her eat or drink from his bowl, waiting for her when his long legs took him farther and faster than she could manage, and even sharing his treats with her. That’s just the kind of dog he was.

Buddy left our lives on January 29, 2009. He was 108 dog years old when he passed away, having enjoyed a full, varied, and joyous life. Andrew was still in elementary school when Buddy joined our family. That little dog was quite a witness to the unfolding of our family—he saw our boys grow up, graduate, and move on to their own lives. He suffered through a menagerie of “pet mates”, including a tarantula, a pair of turtles, several hamsters, innumerable newts, and a fruit bat named Caroline. Most notable of shared companionship was the ornery and independent John Lewis, a cat who stuck with us for 17 years. (Buddy even won him over—quite a testimony to the Budmeister’s persistent charm.) Buddy moved with us from Port Orange to New Smyrna Beach, camping out with us in a variety of temporary residences while we waited for our current home to be completed. He stuck with us through career changes, graduate school, hurricane evacuations, various family triumphs and tragedies, and the cumulative minutia of more than 5,000 days of ordinary life in the Riddle household.

We decided to place his body in front of our fountain. It was a favorite spot for him to hunt for lizards, and indulge in one of his favorite pastimes, that of drinking lavishly from the fountain hose. We buried him yesterday, with his bandannas and the two favorite toys that he has insisted on hanging onto for the last fourteen years. We enclosed this inscription, (with apologies to Lord Byron and his faithful dog, Boatswain):

“Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all of the Virtues of Man, without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Sir Buddy Goodheart, a Dog.”