Buster, Wisconsin

Buster left us. This was a scene.

The man from Wisconsin came to adopt Buster and we kept our cool at first, tight-lipped, holding Buster’s leash and patting Buster’s head.

The man from Wisconsin came with treats that were very good. Buster sniffed them in his jacket and tried to eat through the pocket, and the man from Wisconsin was pleased as punch that Buster liked him so much. The man from Wisconsin said they were the cheapest treats you can buy at the Jewel, and he ripped open the package and Buster ate them up.

Then the man from Wisconsin took Buster for a walk, with the very nice woman from the foster-pup nonprofit, and Lisa and I sat in the apartment and quietly freaked out.

He was leaving. Today. Buster was leaving.

When Buster returned from the walk with the man from Wisconsin and the nice woman, I went into the kitchen to get his food bowl. The tears started pouring, without my thinking. We’d only had him six days. How could I be so attached? We were so attached. I came back into the living room puffy and red, and the nice woman said: “We’ll do the paperwork outside.”

Buster was not always a perfect pup. Buster ate the blinds off the living room window. Buster ate through his dog food bag, from the bottom, and ate half a bag of dog food. Buster peed in at least three places. But we loved Buster. Make that present-tense. We love Buster, and Buster hates trains. The man who came to adopt Buster lives near a train.

Lisa especially thinks that Buster came to us as a reincarnation of someone in our spiritual tribe. I am just sure that he came to us to show us how it’s ok to be shy, bad, goofy, sleepy, hungry, crazy, skinny, confused, daydreamy — and a lover of the cheapest treats you can get at the Jewel.

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