Flashback Friday: my Buddy.

When I was a young teen, early morning always began as such: I'd hear my parents moving around the house, and at around 630, my mother would say "Buddy. Buddy, go get Leslie up." In my somewhat creaky home, I would hear four paws carry their owner up the stairs, an off rhythm beat. Dog sniffing and a headbutt at my door would swing it open, and in would come Buddy, my Airedale, round side of my bed, where he would promptly stick his face in mine. Mostly, I would be somewhat awake already for this and greet him affectionately. Occasionally, I would pull the covers over my head and the dog-nosed-nudging would become more and more insistent. The best? When I scooted over towards the wall and patted the bed. Buddy would jump on up, turn in a circle (likely stepping on me -- it was a twin bed) and snuggle on in.

He was such a silly dog. We taught him to shake his paw, but he was overzealous, and it got to the point where I could sit with my back to him and he would scratch it by continuously "shaking." When I was in 8th Grade, I came out of math class to see him sitting outside. Once, I was driving home from my friend's house in a bad storm, and my mother said he sat by the window until I pulled into the driveway.

Best friend. I still miss you.