Run, Buster, Run

My pal Mark broke my heart last night, telling me that Buster had just passed away. Buster was Mark’s dog — his beautiful, lovable, extraordinary dog — who he adopted when we were living together in a vast, ramshackle loft in Bushwick when I first moved back to New York ten years ago. Buster was a surprise: Mark adopted him from the North Shore Animal League while we were each home for the holidays, taking a break from the months of cleaning and construction we’d been doing. Mark was a little worried that he’d picked up a pet without asking me first, but Buster had me under his spell from the moment I saw him.

Buster’s early days in Bushwick were a challenge, to put it mildly. He was a puppy and insufferably cute, though, so it was easy to forgive his misdeeds. Also, neither one of us was able to spend as much time at home with him as he really needed, so his early training went slowly. He ate all the upholstery off a 3-piece velvet couch I treasured. Every day we’d come home to discover a Family Circus trail of pee showing the circles he’d run when he’d hear the key turn in the lock of the front door. He also started out with an awful GI-tract infection that soon led us to the horrible sight of our deathly ill pup hooked up to an IV at the vet’s office.

After we left Bushwick, Mark and Buster were my neighbors in Fort Greene for a few years, and I had the pleasure of watching Buster grow up, learn his lessons well, and become the best damn dog I ever knew. I was pretty indifferent to animals before Buster, but I’ve been an avid dog-lover ever since. In many, ways he really embodied everything that I love in a dog, and I can’t help but hold the rest up to his high standard of affectionate, loyal, good temper.

Buddy, thanks for everything, and we’ll all miss the hell out of you.