If they ever make a movie about Bud, I think they should call it “The Little King,” the story of a dog abandoned in the barren, baked woods of Southern Arkansas, sickened by worms and exposure, starved and beaten, saved by brave rescuers, shipped across the country to a writer/artist’s preserve with animals he had never seen or imagined – chickens, border collie workaholic dogs, imperious barn cats, sheep and two doubtful donkeys.
The Little King did not know how to live in a house, he went in the bathroom like the humans, ate the artist’s beloved fabric, peed on the dining room carpet, hid the man’s shoes under the table, chewed every shoelace in the house, feasted on manure and droppings in the pasture, marked chairs, tables and furniture, vomited unimaginable and unknowable things.
He was a small cyclone, landing like a savage little storm in a tranquil place. Commands seemed an annoying distraction to him, he obeyed them once in a while.
He didn’t care much for the way things were done.
He was a shatterer, a shaker up of things, a make-me dog, a breaker of rules.
He emerged from his shell like a chrysalis, echoes of people shouting at him bounced off of the trees in the farm and the barn. His inner self emerged bit by bit. The donkeys accepted him, the sheep did what he told them to do, the intense border collies gave him their treats.
The Little King balked at first, hid and skulked, then a fairy came along and waved some fairy dust over his head, and the Little King continued to come to life. He chased the chickens, was slapped by a barn cat, barked at the donkeys, charmed the barn cats, fell in love with a sheep, and watched dutifully over one of the border collies, an older, sick dog.
The Little King took the old dog under his wing, commandeered a bed in the writer’s study, slept on the sheepskin on his favorite chair, ended up in the big bed most nights.
In the evening, he sleeps curled up on the sofa next to the artist while she reads. He decided to shed his difficult past and live in the present.
His bewildered owners were confounded by him, and astonished by him, they thought him a wild and uncontrollable animal but were touched by his great heart, and loving nature.
Every day, at feeding time, the Little King, now a dog of entitlement, takes up his position in the pasture, it is clear the farm belongs to him.
Such lovely words! So happy for you all at Bedlam Farm!
You wrote, “the Little King continued to come to life”. Beautifully said, and a reminder for all of us that we can emerge from brokenness and live our lives with confidence and joy. Thank you, as always, for your wise observations.
What a spunky affectionate fun-loving little guy Bud has turned out to be! It’s amazing how a little kindness, nourishing food and good training can transform a sad-eyed little dog into one brimming with energy and confidence. Kudos to you, Jon, and Maria for that. I have a feeling Bud will be entertaining us for a long time to come. Go Bud!
Like the true kings of olden days, he was born into poverty and endured much cruelty until his royal heritage became manifest. His destiny now fulfilled, he contemplates his domains at the end of the day.
Sounds like there’s a children’s book there….