Of course, I am devastated over Buzzy's passing. He waited for me to get home, and I wrapped him in a white blanket and prayed with him before leaving.  We got in the car and began the drive to his doctor. I remember the exact moment when I felt him pass. I was ushered into a room at Stack Veterinary Hospital that had soft music playing, and it was a very peaceful, quiet setting. Dr. Hale came in, and pronounced him dead. She then left me alone with Buzzy, so that I could say goodbye.  In that room, I felt pain that was dark, sad, and final.

The next morning, a Saturday, I got up very early in order to drive to Saratoga Springs and conduct a Workplace Civility Workshop for the State University of New York Student Assembly Conference. Friends who knew Buzzy told me that Buzzy would unquestionably have wanted me to get moving that next day. In 1998, I got puppy Buzzy as I was ramping up my doctoral work while working at a fulltime management level job. He spent his life accustomed to my pace. The drive to and from Saratoga was healing, as I had time to absorb this major change. To lose someone who was with you for nearly 16 years with someone who knows, virtually, your every move is quite a shift. Animals have consciousness that, in many ways, eclipses ours. I am still in the shift. It will take some time.

Buzzy Gedro was a quirky guy. He danced to his own drummer. Sometimes he was social, other times he preferred to meditate in solitude in his crate. He was Max Gedro's half brother; their mother was Mitzie of Waco, Georgia. Buzzy's father's name was Ransom. That was probably my first clue that my boy was a rebel. Buzzy wore Harley-Davidson clothes, a Grateful Dead collar (you know I am being entirely serious and literal, right?) and he had an unmistakable swagger. Even though he had, in the last three years, two brothers who were younger and larger, Buzzy was the undisputed Alpha Male in my house.

As I write this, very early on a Wednesday morning, I have Buzzy's ashes and his paw print on the mantel, with a candle lit vigil and prayerful music playing. I feel his fun-loving, clever, hippie presence. I have shed many tears over his passing. The tears blend with a feeling of profound gratitude, joy, and mirth to have had the opportunity to live with such a character who now watches over me. I have asked him to meet me at the bridge when my time comes, and no doubt, it will be quite a reunion. Until then, I celebrate the life and times of Jefferson Arthur Taylor (AKC name), the guy known as "Buzz-Man."