Two weeks ago my brother and sister-in-law posted a photo of Dad’s dog on Facebook, alerting the family that Buddy had passed away.

“Our hearts are sad today,” they wrote. “Our blue-eyed Buddy dog is now running in heaven with Gus (Dad). And he’s no longer in any pain. And that is good. He was a real good dog. One of the best.”

Buddy was my Dad’s last dog and was close to 15 years old, I’m guessing. He was a striking Alaskan malamute cross with the most piercing light blue eyes I’ve ever seen in a dog. His signature move was bending down on one front shoulder, as if to bow to whoever was approaching. He was friendly to a fault, a good dog on every level.

When my father went into a nursing home in 2007, Buddy started frequenting my brother’s farm a mile away to keep their dog company. My brother took Buddy to see Dad in the nursing home, and it did them both good.

It made sense that when my mother moved to town after Dad died in 2009, Buddy would take up residency at my brother’s place.

I was immediately so sad when I heard the news, though it was no surprise given Buddy’s age. Then I was deeply sad and found myself in tears. This is crazy, I thought to myself. Now I’m getting misty-eyed just writing about this.

Buddy was one of those last tangible links to Dad. My father had such a love for all animals. He had names for every one of his 50 dairy cows. I can still hear his voice across the pasture as he called the cows in for the evening milking.

Dad had a soft spot for the barn cats, too. They knew just where to stand to get a squirt of milk before he slipped the milking machine on a cow. And of course Dad’s many dogs through the years — Terry, Benji, Misty, Champ and others — felt his love the deepest.

Stray animals seemed to know about Dad’s way with animals. One summer day we ended up a couple of horses that wandered up to the farmstead, a few errant cows from a neighbor’s farm and a stray dog — all on the same day!

Stray cats always stayed, and there was always room for one more around the big bowl of warm milk they enjoyed every morning and night. They returned the kindness by keeping the mouse population down.

I’m thinking about Dad today.

His extraordinary rapport with animals instilled many things in me and my brothers: Compassion, responsibility, love. In my mind today, Dad is romping with Buddy in a wide, open meadow, both still in their prime.

“Hey, Buddy, Buddy,” he’d call.

Buddy would come running, anxious for those endless pats on the head, and he’d bow down on one shoulder, paying grateful tribute to his master once again.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.