My Buddy

His name was Apollo, not really a

fitting name for a Chihuahua, Jose

or Chico would have been more

appropriate for a pooch of Mexican

lineage.

I got him when he was a year old,

and had already been named by

his previous owner.

Apollo is a Greek name, son of

Zeus, the greatest Grecian god

of all. My grandfather was from

Greece which in turn is part of

my heritage. So, the name Apollo

was perfectly fine with me.

Besides, that small fellow had the

tenacity worthy of any god from my-

thology. Mostly though, I called him,

Buddy. And Apollo learned to answer

to both quite tolerably.

And as mothers or teachers often

do with children, I called him by

his proper name when I was upset

with him for not behaving properly

or disobeying me.

Personally, I could relate to the

term of endearment, “Buddy”

for my Dad called me that when

I lived with him after he and my

Mom divorced.

Even when Dad was upset or

angry with me, he never called

me Christopher which was the

legal Christian name given me.

I suppose Buddy was easier and

psychologically more effective

to say.

Anyway, I could always tell when

Dad was mad. You could see it in

his face, and hear it in his stern

tone of voice. Then, he could have

called me just about anything, and

I would have known.

I had to have my Apollo put to

sleep last week. He was eighteen

and a half years old, and had grown

sick, feeble and weak. It was time,

and I couldn’t stand to watch him

suffer any longer.

Before I let him go, I cried, kissed

and stroked his head. “I love you,

Buddy. Thank you for all the years

we shared, my mighty Mexican/

Greek warrior god. Rest in peace,

Buddy, rest in peace.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 4-2-2020