RangerDanger
New Member
Buffalo was the best dog a backpacker could hope for.
He was so much into backpaking that I went hiking with his mom when she was pregnant with him, and the first few times I took him with me I carried him most of the way, since he was so little (still nursing) he couldn't walk that far.
His mom and older 1/2-brother would go too, but Buffalo was the one who loved it the most.
Dogs are a guerilla growers best partner.
They can smell and hear better than people, so camped out remotely I always was comfoted by the fact that no one could get near without Buffalo alerting me.
On hikes, he could always detect a rattlesnake before I could. He would always be scouting ahead a few yards, and if he heard/smelled a snake he would freeze and his hair would rise. He'd look back at me to see if I had noticed his warning. I'd call him back and we'd wait for the snake to leave before continuing.
His mother was well mannered, and knew lots of commands, so it came 2nd nature to him. When we camped and didn't want him siffing around while we ate I taught him a new command. I'd say "Dogtown" and he's walk to the edge of camp, waiting patiently for aftre-dinner scraps.
He was also company on solo trips.
There were times when he would bark and growl at night and I knew a lion or bear was probably nearby. And lions and bears fear a dog more than people.
All my friends loved him. Buffalo was so happy when we had a group gathering in the woods. He would get mega-love, and occasionally someone else would bring their dog, so he had a new butt to sniff.
He was my constant companion for 18 years.
But then it became harder for him to get around. I'd stand up and he'd look at me as if to say "I want to go with you but I can't walk very good anymore." I had the key to the fireroad gate so he coutinued to go with.
Then his eyesight began to fade.
When he could no longer control his bowels and bladder I knew it was time to put him down.
Now I could have taken him to the vet to put him to sleep, but I didn't want his last view of the world to be a steel tray.
So I took him on one last trip. A friend drove out to meet us and brought his .357.
We camped out that night.
When the morning came I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I asked my friend. I fed him a few canna-cookies and together my friend and I carried him to an area next to a meadow, and I left. I told my friend to wait 5 minutes so I wouldn't hear the gunshots.
It was over quick. 2 bullets through the eye.
I didn't want him buried. I wanted his remains to be nourishment for other woodland creatures.
On the way out I cried.
My friend met up with me afterwards, and he said "that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do", and I could tell he had cried too.
That was 7 years ago. I still think about him and I still miss him.
RIP Buffalo my good friend.
He was so much into backpaking that I went hiking with his mom when she was pregnant with him, and the first few times I took him with me I carried him most of the way, since he was so little (still nursing) he couldn't walk that far.
His mom and older 1/2-brother would go too, but Buffalo was the one who loved it the most.
Dogs are a guerilla growers best partner.
They can smell and hear better than people, so camped out remotely I always was comfoted by the fact that no one could get near without Buffalo alerting me.
On hikes, he could always detect a rattlesnake before I could. He would always be scouting ahead a few yards, and if he heard/smelled a snake he would freeze and his hair would rise. He'd look back at me to see if I had noticed his warning. I'd call him back and we'd wait for the snake to leave before continuing.
His mother was well mannered, and knew lots of commands, so it came 2nd nature to him. When we camped and didn't want him siffing around while we ate I taught him a new command. I'd say "Dogtown" and he's walk to the edge of camp, waiting patiently for aftre-dinner scraps.
He was also company on solo trips.
There were times when he would bark and growl at night and I knew a lion or bear was probably nearby. And lions and bears fear a dog more than people.
All my friends loved him. Buffalo was so happy when we had a group gathering in the woods. He would get mega-love, and occasionally someone else would bring their dog, so he had a new butt to sniff.
He was my constant companion for 18 years.
But then it became harder for him to get around. I'd stand up and he'd look at me as if to say "I want to go with you but I can't walk very good anymore." I had the key to the fireroad gate so he coutinued to go with.
Then his eyesight began to fade.
When he could no longer control his bowels and bladder I knew it was time to put him down.
Now I could have taken him to the vet to put him to sleep, but I didn't want his last view of the world to be a steel tray.
So I took him on one last trip. A friend drove out to meet us and brought his .357.
We camped out that night.
When the morning came I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I asked my friend. I fed him a few canna-cookies and together my friend and I carried him to an area next to a meadow, and I left. I told my friend to wait 5 minutes so I wouldn't hear the gunshots.
It was over quick. 2 bullets through the eye.
I didn't want him buried. I wanted his remains to be nourishment for other woodland creatures.
On the way out I cried.
My friend met up with me afterwards, and he said "that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do", and I could tell he had cried too.
That was 7 years ago. I still think about him and I still miss him.
RIP Buffalo my good friend.
