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A Farewell Tribute to Buttons

Buttons was unique in many, many ways, but initially it was because he was the first (and only) greyhound I ever had to fight to adopt. Because of the enormous number of greys looking for homes in the UK, they are normally handed over to a proven responsible home with a minimum of fuss. But not Buttons.

Buttons languished in kennels for years (nearly nine in total) and technically wasn’t even up for adoption when I first met him. He was nervous and wary of all people, and found the outside world a scary place, so long ago someone had made the decision he would be happier living out his days in a kennel. And they were very, very wrong. He wouldn’t have been sad, as he didn’t know any other life, but he would have missed out on a lot of very happy times, and the chance to show people who cared just what a special and funny boy he was.

I fell in love with this big scared boy the moment I first saw him fighting on the end of a lead, and trying as hard as he could to stay as far away from me as possible. And as silly as it may sound, I also had a feeling that this was the dog that Jerry had sent to us. He knew how much Buttons needed a home, and would have been safe in the knowledge that after adopting Jerry at age 11, our hearts would always be open to old dogs with grey faces that no one else wanted.

I will always remember the day I found the small, hard lump on the right side of his face, at the base of his jaw. Buttons was 12 years old, and I think that deep down I knew right there and then that it wasn’t a good thing. The location was all wrong (directly over a lymph node) and it had appeared quickly. Within himself he was fine, so I kept my discovery a secret for a couple of days, and tried to convince myself that it was nothing. But it wasn’t, and it kept growing, so I popped him in to see our vet Martin, who felt the lump carefully and then looked at me. And for a brief moment my world fell apart. Because he knew, and he knew that I knew too.

But rather than go for a lot of invasive tests that would have terrified Buttons, we decided to clutch at straws and start him on a very strong and extended course of antibiotics. The most probable cause for the lump was a secondary tumour, having spread from elsewhere in the body. But due to a lifetime of neglect in kennels Buttons also had some of the worst teeth we had ever seen, and so the lump could be an infection, and would reduce with the course of antibiotics. The vet said we would know fairly quickly one way or the other.

For a brief period the antibiotics did seem to help, and this bought us some much needed time. It allowed me to collect Jet from the UK, so Buttons once again had a companion. I thought Buttons had been doing well as an only dog, but he loved having a friend, particularly as Jet was more nervous than he was, and he was able to boss him around. Finally at age 12 Buttons was leader of his very own (small) pack.

Because he was so content we decided to leave things exactly as they were until Buttons told us otherwise. He had always been a poor traveller, and leaving the safety of his hillside was traumatic, so even if further tests had revealed more details about his problems it is unlikely there would have been anything we would have chosen to do for him. With a dog like Buttons it was all about quality, so we continued to make sure his days were happy and stress free, and filled with his favourite things. Endless trips to the vet and aggressive medical procedures would have been solely for our benefit, not his. Not knowing exactly what was going on was hard, but seeing Buttons suffer would have been even harder.

About 2 months after I first felt the lump on his jaw, and three weeks after Jet had come home, something changed. It was subtle at first, but Buttons became tired. Within a day or two he was clearly slowing down. He was still eating well and spending lots of time outside in his beloved garden, but something just wasn’t quite right. I think I finally knew for sure when the postman arrived one morning and Buttons barked but didn’t get up from his bed in the sunshine to run to the gate and see him off.

That night Nigel and talked it through and decided that we didn’t want to wait until Buttons wasn’t barking at the postman at all, so we called Martin and arranged to come in the following morning. That morning Buttons refused his breakfast. I wanted to get him to take one tablet which would help relax him for the journey, and he simply refused to eat anything. He finally did eat a square of chocolate (with the tablet wedged inside), and we set off for the vet. It was the first trip I have ever taken in a car with Buttons where he didn’t work himself into a frenzy of anxiety. In fact he lay calmly in the back for the whole journey, and when we arrived he walked into the vet's without batting an eyelid. Maybe it was the medication (Martin had told me it made them feel like they had drunk a large whisky – relaxed but alert) or maybe he just knew.

We spent a long time in the consulting room talking things through, as for the first time ever Nigel and I disagreed. I felt Buttons was ready to go, and was worried if we took him home again he would start to suffer and we would regret it. Nigel has never claimed to be a dog lover, but he and Buttons have always had a peculiarly strong bond. No one loved that dog like Nigel did, so it was important that he was also sure we were making the right decision. Martin felt we could buy another week or two with some steroid shots and heavy duty painkillers, and the whole time we talked, Buttons wandered calmly around the room from person to person, before settling down on his bed on the floor.

Martin left us for a while, and eventually Nigel agreed that Buttons was too special to have his life measured in something as simple as days. Whether he left today or next week it still wouldn’t be long enough for us, but a dog like that didn’t deserve to suffer so we could have a few more days to make up our minds.

Buttons left peacefully, being held by people who loved him dearly, with my tears falling into his soft, thick fawn fur. He took one last deep breath and was gone, but for a few brief moments his wet black nose twitched gently. Martin said it was a normal reflex reaction, but I like to think he was sniffing out his friends who had come to meet him and take his spirit home. Buttons always liked company on his travels.

So much sets Buttons apart from all the other dogs that have been part of our family over the years. His personality, his obsessive routines, his loathing of change, his love of digging and raw meat, his pushy demands for affection, his enjoyment of being outside on ‘his’ hillside, his long and oddly fat tail. The list is endless. But what makes this list so special is the fact that it even exists. If Buttons had lived out his days in kennels there wouldn’t be anyone to write these things about him, because no one would have ever known about them. He would have died just another nervous old greyhound in a kennel.

Not a day passes, even after having lost him, when I am not thankful that we fought so hard to show him what life in a home meant. But more importantly I am thankful that we were the special ones who gave him his chance, and were then rewarded with the opportunity to see him shine. I am glad he touched our lives so deeply and that he died peacefully, knowing what it was to be loved.

Final tribute

Nigel has never really been a dog person. In fact he only agreed to fill our home with them because he knows how much it means to me. This and the fact that he can use them to justify large purchases like a new computer (necessary for doing their web site), an expensive camera (the only way to take good action photos of them), overpriced lenses for the aforementioned camera (essential for those heart melting close ups), etc. You get the idea.

But from the outset Buttons was different. He had very little to recommend him, but Nigel liked him right away, and the feeling was always mutual. Nigel was the first person Buttons ever went to of his own accord, and from that moment onwards the two of them seemed to share a special bond. Nigel has a winter coat that was similar in colour to Buttons’ fur, and I always joked about them being my two red fawn boys as they played on the hill behind our house together.

When we lost Buttons Nigel was devastated, and finally made Buttons his own special website – something he had been planning to do for a while. It is meant as more of a personal reflection than anything else, but anyone who knows how Nigel feels about dogs (not a huge fan) and writing (even less keen about it than dogs), will realise just how special it is that he took the time to not only make a website, but to record his feelings for our funny fawn spook.

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