I was about two-years-old when my dad brought home a tiny puppy, not more than five weeks old. He was black, with brown markings on his nose and around his feet. He wasn’t a pedigree, or specially bred dog. He was just a mutt. My dad told me his name was Butch. After that, Butch became my hero.
My mother didn’t like animals in the house, so we made him a bed of old shirts and rags and placed him in the garage. Every day I would play with Butch, pulling him by the ears, or picking him up by the legs. I was just a baby, myself, so Butch didn’t really mind.
As he grew, he would follow me around the yard. When I would slide down the slide, Butch wanted to slide, too. It wasn’t long before he learned to climb the ladder behind me, and slide down near my back.
When my mom re-married, we moved to the country. There were woods all around us, with a beautiful pond, and a large garden during the summer -- with all kinds of vegetables growing in it. Butch would follow us down the trail to the garden, and bark at all the bugs and grasshoppers that he would stir up, on the way.
During the spring, we would go camping at the lake, and Butch would welcome the invitation my step-dad would give him to jump in the back of the pick-up and go with us. He liked to follow us into the water, and splash the water on us, when he would shake his black fur at the shoreline. At home, he could be found on the porch most of the time, basking in the warm heat, as his tongue hung out of his mouth.
On fall mornings, he would bark to warn me that the school bus was on the way. Later in the afternoon, he would be there to greet me when I got off of the same bus. He would walk in front of me, to warn me of holes in the road, or snakes I might not see.
During the winter, it would sleet and snow. We would go outside and skate on the ice, in our front yard. One year, Butch re-discovered the slide. My neighbors and I would laugh at him, when he would climb the ladder and slide halfway across the yard, then turn around and do it again.He thought it was fun.
One spring, when my baby sister was only three, I was left to care for her while my mother went to work. I sent my sister outside to play while I fixed lunch. I knew Butch would take care of her.
It wasn’t long after she went outside, that I heard her scream, and Butch was barking madly. I opened the door to see what the problem was and heard her scream, “SNAKE!” She was doing as she had been taught to do when she saw a snake, she was standing still and screaming for help.
I ran out there to see the snake better; then I knew I had to get her out of striking distance of the snake. I didn’t have any idea how I was going to do that. Finally, I said, “Butch, I need you to get his attention so I can kill him.” I didn’t expect Butch to respond, but he did.
Miraculously, Butch picked up a stick in his mouth; then ran to the other side of the snake, away from my sister. He tossed the stick in the air and barked. The snake turned around and struck toward him, missing him, and giving my sister time to run away. I went into the shed and brought back a hoe, and with Butch’s help, I killed the snake.
A few years later, I spent the summer with my real dad. When I came back home, Butch could hardly walk. I was informed that he had heart worms, and that the doctor said there was nothing he could do for him. I spent the next few weeks feeding him and petting him. Finally, one day, I cried as I told him I loved him.
“You’re the best dog anybody could have ever had,” I told him, “And, I’m gonna miss you something awful. But, I don’t know what to do to make you better.”
The next day, he was gone. I guess he knew that I was saying goodbye. A few months later, we found him in an old bathtub full of water at the edge of the woods. It was his way of sparing me anymore pain.
In this life, you are likely to cross paths with many heroes. If a hero’s qualifications aren’t limited to human beings, then I would have to say that my dog, Butch, was definitely one of mine.
