Buddy: The Dog Without a Tail

Sometimes I get letters that break my heart. Like this one:

“Melissa: Be forewarned: This email will make you angry. I know that I’m angry. My son, Timothy, had a pup that was attacked by a littermate. The dog was separated from the pack in order to heal. After it was better, the dog was allowed to run free, and it was hit by a car. Since then, the dog’s leg has improved.  A week or so ago, something attacked the dog. He now has only about 4 inches of tail. What tail he does have looks horrible. I nearly vomited when I saw it. The stub is bare and is various shades of red and black. My son has called animal control to pick up the dog.

I don’t need a dog and cannot afford to have one, but I know the dog will be mistreated if he is put in a shelter. I called a vet who said that tails are hard to heal and suggested that we cut it off. I told my son that I’ll pay for the tail surgery and getting the dog neutered but I need time to build a pen.

There’s no way that I can afford surgery on the dog’s leg. The vet said that without surgery, the dog will have a fairly normal life, but will be considered disabled.  I’m angry that my son created this disaster.  I’m angry that my son will not put the dog down even though he thinks it’s the best option for the dog.  By the way, the dog’s name is Buddy and he’s a timid fellow. My husband agrees that we don’t need an animal and cannot afford it, but that compassion should win out over convenience.

Do you think the dog should be put down? At my house, Buddy will be in a pen until he dies. In your opinion, what is the compassionate choice? Thanks, Beth.”

Five months before I received this letter, ICHBA had had a relationship with Beth’s son Timothy, who had called and wanted our group to take four pups, including Buddy, off his property immediately. As you know if you’ve been reading this blog, ICHBA is an incredibly small organization that isn’t equipped to handle four possibly very ill pups at once, let alone one that had been hit by a car. Our organization managed to have Buddy’s mother spayed and take two pups off the premises before Tim became uncooperative. Unfortunately, ICHBA had to cut off all ties with him and tried to forget about the animals remaining at Timothy’s home.

Once Beth got involved in the situation, I got the letter quoted above. I’ve known Beth for a few years now. She’s a middle-aged blue-collar worker that blushes when I curse and has never lived far from the Kentucky-Tennessee state line. She doesn’t say much, but when she does speak, her voice is quiet and kind and honest. I know how hard it must have been for her to admit to me how her son had treated Buddy, and her courage astounds me.

Beth decided not to euthanize the dog, but it took about a week for her to find a pen for Buddy. In the meantime, the dog chewed an extra chunk off his infected tail, and when Beth finally managed to move him to her home, there was only a few jagged inches left.

Beth, who barely gets by on her janitor’s salary, took Buddy to a local vet and paid to have his tail totally removed plus get him neutered, which means less money in her already strapped budget. For me, Beth is the kind of hero that should be blasted on every news source twenty-fours hours a day, but besides on this blog, you’ll never hear about her.

On Weds, April 30th, Mason and I drove to Logan County, Kentucky to meet Buddy. Beth works twelve hours a day, five days a week, and wasn’t home when we arrived mid-afternoon, a breezy, sunny day with cotton ball clouds drifting overhead. Her husband, José, a jovial Mexican from Pachuca, Hidalgo State, is deeply religious and interprets the bible literally. Although he would never hurt a soul, he has a strong antipathy for animals living inside his home. He doesn’t believe they have souls.

José took us to Buddy’s kennel behind the house, explaining in broken English that Buddy was “tranquilo.” And surprisingly, Buddy did seem tranquil. The dog, eleven-months old, was resting on his flank in a chain link pen that measured four feet tall and six’ by six’ wide with a plywood roof anchored by cinder blocks.

As we got closer, Buddy’s ears stood at the base, but he didn’t bark or growl. Part-chow, he resembles a black teddy bear with a short, square snout, purplish splotches smattering his tongue, and thick hair. He pushed his maw into the air and sniffed, wearing a leery expression, but he didn’t hunker as I had expected, and when Mason unlatched the gate, Buddy let him attach a leash to his collar.

The dog walked with a noticeable limp from his busted leg. Half the pad on his right front paw was missing. It looked red and painful, but Beth had said the vet assured her it would grow back from the inside out. We didn’t take him far, down the gravel drive and back, letting him walk on the soft spring grass, and he seemed friendly and eager to please. We had brought our dog Meadow, who is so good-natured that she serves as our dog-aggression barometer, and they sniffed each other without any negative reaction.

Buddy’s tail was down to the base and still shaved from surgery. I didn’t investigate his wound because those kinds of incisions have a tendency to turn my stomach, but in retrospect I wish I had looked. About ten minutes after we had left Beth and Jose’s trailer, Mason mentioned that he saw bugs on Buddy’s shaved behind. He said they might be fleas. I called Beth, recommended the best-cheapest Wal-mart brand of flea and tick control. The next morning she took him to the vet and found out that he had torn out his stitches and needed another surgery. The bugs had been gnats, which swarm open wounds.

Beth and I are currently reaching out to no-kill sanctuaries that specialize in re-homing dogs as abused and disabled as Buddy. ICHBA does not have the resources to keep a disabled dog long-term, and the surgery to fix his wrist costs several thousand dollars. I’ve prepared Beth and Jose for a potentially very long wait, meaning they will have to provide food, love, medical care, and shelter until an agency has room. I’m also teaching Beth and Jose how to train Buddy so that when his physical wounds heal, they can domesticate him. I’ve shown Beth a few shortcuts that will help alleviate some basic vetting costs like heartworm and flea medicine, plus yearly vaccinations like rabies and DHLPP. Lastly, Beth, Mason and I are all teaming up on José, trying to convince him that Buddy would be happier inside their small but clean and warm home.

It doesn’t seem like much, but right now it’s all Mace and I can do for Buddy. I have to focus on what we can do, not what can’t be done, or I will go crazy thinking about the unfairness of Buddy’s situation or the fact that Buddy’s littermate, an eleven-month old brown female Chow mutt, is still at Timothy’s house.

Then again, whenever I get too frustrated, all I have to do is think about Beth and her efforts to help Buddy. If helping an animal meant doing without basics, would I do it? Would you? Beth did, and that’s why I consider her a hero.

I will keep you updated about Buddy’s physical and emotional progress, as well as his living circumstances. Meadow, Mace, and I are going for a visit this morning 

Please send all your positive energy to Buddy, the dog without a tail living in Logan County, Kentucky, because right now, he needs a miracle.