The Good Boy

Buddy was my second dog. He belonged to a friend of mine and every time I would go to her farm I would always tell her one day I was going to take him home with me. Well one day came and I got a phone call at work to see if I was serious. Buddy was bored (tired of being tied to a truck) and decide to go to the neighbours for some chicken dinner, chicken dinner in the neighbours chicken coup. Much to the displeasure of my friends dad and the decision was made that Buddy had to go, so it was my house or the pound. My house it was.

Buddy is the best dog, listens, well behaved in the house and very loveable. A few years ago I moved from my parents farm and Buddy stayed there until I was settled at my new place. I brought him to my house but he was not happy, he could not spend his days outside doing as he pleased. Every chance he could get he would hop in their truck when they came to visit in hopes of making his way back to the farm. If I went to visit them he would go hide, ignore me when I talked to him and when I did get his attention he would look away and pretend he could not hear me. So Buddy now lives on the farm with Grandma & Grandpa, he still comes to visit but does not go far from their truck for fear he may have to stay. Makes me feel bad but at the same time I know he is happy where he is and as much as my parents like to hint otherwise I know they like him there too.