(708)301-1594 
Open 11 am-4 pm Tuesday through Saturday Closed Sunday and Monday webmistress                   |
Here's the Happy Ending story of Buddy (formerly Herbie):
Originally published in Prairiesmoke 17-18 as "My Buddy" by Beverly Stuben
After being dogless for a few months, I was ready to open my heart again. For weeks, I scoured animal shelters. Like an expectant mother, I had my layette ready for a small dog.
Janine, Denny, and Denny Jr. run TLC Shelter in Homer Glen. I've known them for thirty years. They're good people. I told them of my search. Janine called a couple of weeks later. "A little black poodle came in," she said. "How long will it take you to get here?"
When I arrived at the shelter, I found the poodle had been severely neglected. Caged for three years, his odor was horrible, with overgrown fur pasted by dried feces and urine.
I told Janine, "Oh, no, I don't think so."
She said, "I just have a feeling."
I thought, "I do have a cage to put him in right away."
When I brought him home, I put food, water, a pillow, a treat, and a soft toy in the cage for him, and I sat down to talk to him.
"What a sorry mess you are," I told him. He didn't look at me or show any emotion. He sat there with lackluster eyes and no interest in his surroundings. He had lost his spirit, resigned to whatever would happen to him.
The next day, I took him to Dog Gone Purrfection in Homer Glen. I told of his plight and asked them to do whatever was necessary to get rid of the smell and make him look like a poodle again. Three hours later, he was ready. Jeanne, one of the owners, said it had taken three baths to rid him of the scum. They had to shave him entirely, as there was nothing they could do with his fur. Jeanne said, "You were compassionate adopting a dog like that. I don't want to charge you anything."
She refused payment.
I took him to my vet, where Buddy weighed in at five and a half pounds, shivering, ribs showing prominently, but still healthy.
In September, Buddy and I went back to TLC. I stopped by monthly afterward to visit and to give a progress report. I asked if we could go into the back room to see the other dogs. When we entered the room, Buddy, formerly known as Herbie, started whimpering, trying to climb up my leg and into my arms. I picked him up. He started licking my face over and over again, as if to say, "I love you. I'm a good boy, Mommy."
Why was he so frightened? I looked around. Then, understanding came. It was the cages. He had been locked in one for years. Now, after tasting freedom and love, he was afraid he'd be caged again-that I was abandoning him.
I kissed his head and promised him, "Never again, Buddy, no more cages, never again." We both gave a sigh of relief when we entered our house. I could almost swear that he gave a little dance. Buddy was home, and he knew it.