Ode to a Klingon - A Tribute to Buddy Lee

Driving past the rest area, I spotted two dogs playing next to the highway. Without a thought, I veered into the picnic area to draw them away from the seventy mile-per-hour traffic.

Both dogs followed the truck as I pulled in and grabbed the packet of dry dog food from beneath the driver's seat.They scarfed up the kibble in seconds prompting me to search for more food in the truck.

When I turned around, the Doberman was gone. The one that looked like a wolf remained close, watching my every move. His hair was matted and dirty; his ribs visible through the thick fur. He sat quietly by the open door of the truck waiting for the question that would change both our lives:

"Do you want to go home with me, boy?"

He raised his right paw as an answer.

The first night Buddy was with us, I put him in the fenced pen that once housed our emus. He had food and water, yet he lacked the companionship he so desperately craved. 

In the morning, I took his breakfast out there and found he had dug his way out from under the chain link fence. I cried all the way to work, believing him to be lost once again.

Once I arrived at work I retrieved my voice mail messages. Buddy found his way home and into the heart of my hubby who said, "This little buddy is a keeper." And so he got his name and became part of our family, joining our twelve year old Retriever, Slick, and his new Chow companion, three year old Dolly Joe.

One Christmas, I wrote a poem when Buddy Lee displayed interest in one ornament on our tree.

Ode to a Klingon by Peg Cole

The tinny voice of Mr. Worf
Grown silent now at last. 
Has echoed from the Christmas tree
Of many seasons past.

The shuttle craft has lost its voice
The micro chip is quiet.
And yet I do not toss it out
I dare not start a riot.

Each morning when the lights went on
The Klingon's voice would call
And Buddy Lee would tilt his head
In wonderment and awe..

Not that one...the Runabout, please, push the button.

The micro chip inside the ship
Spoke deeply from the boughs
And Buddy Lee would come and look
To find the source of prose.

His head pressed firmly on his paws
He guards the silent tree
"Where is the Klingon warrior's voice?
That used to speak to me?"

We laughed at Buddy's interest 
When turning on the tree
He'd always come and take a look
The curious Buddy Lee.

The Warrior's voice is silent now
Its magic has been spent
Though Buddy Lee still stalks the tree
Amid the limbs he's bent.

The thoughts inside my canine's head
Remain a mystery
The strange attraction Buddy has
Is plain for all to see.

And now to find another craft 
On eBay do I search
The plastic shuttle Rio Grande 
Not from the planet Earth.

Bud looks at us with pleading eyes.
His Klingon mentor lacking.
Quick, purchase from the on-line store
With automated tracking.

Bizarre and disconnected from
The day of Jesus' birth.
Yet still I long for Deep Space Nine,
To celebrate with mirth.

I'll hope that it arrives in time,
Without delay or reasons.
And pray each day that Buddy stays
To celebrate more seasons.

Buddy Lee at Twelve

For he's grown old my Buddy Lee
His bright eyes now grown dim.
And Christmas wouldn't be the same
An empty day without him.


So hasten to me UPS
Your brown truck at my door.
And let me see Bud's eyes light up,
When Worf will speak once more.

Buddy Lee was with us for twelve wonderful years during which he was a valued member of our family.

There is a street near our house named Dog Drop Road. Some people take it as an invitation to leave their unwanted pets wandering about lost, wondering what they did to deserve being abandoned.