Six Years with Buddy

Living a hunting, farming, and homesteading lifestyle is a tremendous amount of work and sacrifice.  You simply can't do many of the things in life that people in urban areas take for granted.  There's no last-minute weekend trips to Chicago, no dropping everything to meet a friend for coffee, or hopping on a plane for a destination wedding in Las Vegas.  The work is never done on a homestead; you simply take breaks.  It's a 24/7, living, breathing organism that requires constant attention.   

Buddy showed up at the farm one very cold night in January, 2017.  I went out to check on some cows that were close to calving, and I found him sitting in the front yard under the dusk-to-dawn light.  He was a young dog, still in the later stages of puppyhood.  I had several other dogs living with me at the time, and I wasn't sure that I needed another.  It didn't take long for me to realize that Buddy had a great dispostion, was very friendly, and just wanted a home.  I gave him some food and a few treats and decided to adopt him.  Over the next 6 years, Buddy grew into a 50-pound frame of pure muscle.  He embraced his role as leader of the Finney Farm Security Team.  Before he came to the farm, I was struggling with predation.  I often lost 20-30 chickens in a single night to racoons, coyotes, opposums, and skunks.  I tried every predator-defense system on the market, but nothing worked long-term.  After I put Buddy out on the pasture, I never lost a single chicken that I know of.  

One morning, I heard him barking aggressivley up by the barn.  I found him there with a cornered raccoon that had tried to take a chicken.  Buddy got behind the racoon, picked it up off the ground by the back of its neck, and threw it 5 or 6 feet across the pasture.  The raccoon scurried into the woods and away from the farm.  He learned a lesson he wouldn't soon forget: predators are not welcome here.  I walked back to the house feeling a sense of pride and thinking that Buddy was worth his weight in gold.  

Another time, I saw him corner a badger.  This was an entirely different situation.  Badgers are, pound-for-pound, the most viscious animals in the country.  As tough as Buddy was, I knew this was likely a fight he would lose.  By the time I got there, both Buddy and the badger were bloodied.  They would attack each other and scrap for a few seconds, then retreat to their respective corners like two boxers taking the stool between rounds.  I was able to slip up behind Buddy during one such retreat and pull him away from the fight.  He was more than holding his own, but I've seen what a badger can do to a dog, and I needed him to live to fight another day. 

Buddy was not only a defender of the farm, he was also a good tracker and helped me find downed deer.  He often found shed antlers in the woods and dropped them at my feet as if he understood their value.  He was great with kids, other dogs, and people in general.  He was a social butterfly, always looking for more attention and affection.  Unfortunately, Buddy had one fatal flaw: He was a car-chaser, and it was something I was never able to break him of completely.  On February 22nd, 2023, he chased one car too many.  The vets did everything they could for him, but his injuries were too great, and we had to put him down.  Buddy was one of the best friends I've ever had, and I buried him here so he will always be a part of the farm.  

For those who decide to embrace an alternative food system and the consequent lifestyle, you will find that the perks are less tangible. There's no all-inclusive vacation to Hawaii, no company car, gym membership, expense account, or season tickets in the corporate suite.  Instead, the bonus you will receive is a deep friendship and connection with the animals under your care.  Buddy was more than a dog; he was a teammate, a partner, a companion, a family member, and a friend.  He was the best all-around farm dog that I ever met, and he will always be the gold standard.  As painful as it was to lose him, I know that his spirit will live on in all the working dogs I have now and will have in the future. I had 6 great years with him, but even it it had been 60, it wouldn't have been enough.  I hope to see him again someday.  Until then, I  can only hope that he will continue to haunt the farm, patrolling through the pastures and woods at night, slipping along the creekbanks just before dawn, and watching over the place with the same vigilance in death that he had in life.