Buddy adjusted his own routine each time.
When Harold walked slowly, Buddy stopped pulling.
When Harold began using a cane, the dog stopped cutting across in front of him.
When a home health nurse started visiting twice a week, Buddy initially watched her suspiciously from the hallway. Within a month, he greeted her at the door.
There was one thing Buddy never changed.
At night, he remained close.
Harold sometimes complained about it.
“You’ve got the whole house,” he would tell him. “Why do you need to sleep three feet from my bed?”
Buddy would lift his head.
Harold would smile.
“Fine.”
Karen heard those conversations more than once.
That was why the final hospital admission was so difficult for both of them.
Harold had been feeling weaker for several days, but he resisted going to the emergency department. He had been in and out of hospitals often enough that the smell, noise, and constant interruptions had become exhausting.
“I’d rather sit here with the dog,” he told Karen.
She tried humor.
“The dog is not a cardiologist.”
“He listens better than one.”
By Sunday evening, humor was no longer enough.
Harold became severely short of breath while walking from the bathroom to his bedroom. Karen called an ambulance.
Buddy became frantic when the paramedics entered.
He had learned what uniforms, medical bags, and a stretcher often meant.
Harold was leaving.
Karen held Buddy by the collar while the paramedics moved her father toward the front door.
Harold looked back.
“Take care of him.”
Karen promised she would.
Buddy stood at the living-room window as the ambulance disappeared.
For the next two nights, he slept beside Harold’s empty bed.
He barely touched breakfast the first morning.
He ate better the second.
Whenever Karen entered the house, Buddy moved behind her as though expecting someone else to follow.
Nobody did.
At the hospital, Harold continued asking the same question.
“How’s Buddy?”
Karen would show him photographs.
Buddy sleeping near the bedroom.
Buddy standing by the front door.
Buddy in the backyard.
Harold looked at every one.
By Tuesday, conversations became harder for him.
He slept more than he spoke.
When he woke, he was often confused for several seconds before recognizing Karen.