BUCKLEY

One of the most difficult decisions that a pet owner has to make is the choice to euthanize a furry companion. In the narrowest recesses of our minds, and the widest part of our hearts, we all hope that a pet will live forever. We know it’s not possible, but we hope there’s some way to forestall that trip across the rainbow bridge. Maybe that cloning technology that Barbra Streisand used for her dog will approach a pricing plan that we plebeians can afford? Though why anyone would choose to use it on a Coton de Tulear is beyond me. Or perhaps, one day, “RePet” will be a real thing? Just so long as we don’t have the rest of that terrible Schwarzenegger movie.

We had to make that choice this past week, and said goodbye to our beloved pupper, Buckley.

Beep beep, motherfuckers

I like to say that he was born on the “mean streets of Barbados,” though we actually don’t know much of anything about his early life. His breed was Potcake, a kind of mutt that is prevalent on many Caribbean islands. I imagine he was born on the street, alongside his twin brother, Elliot (Buckley’s original name was Ness), and had to figure out how to survive what would have been a pretty bleak existence. Did he get to go to the beach and beg for food from tourists? Did he shelter under cardboard shanties with his pack?

We do know that he arrived at the Ocean Acres Animal Sanctuary sometime near September of 2021, and had an estimated birth date of January 4th or April 1st 2020. From there, he ended up at the New Collar Collective rescue organization outside of Toronto, and into our care in late March of 2022.

Our niece had come to live with us in early 2021, and we thought a dog would bring them a much-needed companion and calming influence. I absolutely love dogs, and had four prior to Buckley, so I was quite excited as well. Buckley fit the bill perfectly, he and my niece becoming pretty much inseparable. My niece re-named him after Chas, Ari, and Uzi’s dog from The Royal Tenenbaums, one of their favourite movies. I don’t think we knew at the time that the fictional dog was named after William F. Buckley, that rat-fink, fascist, sack of shit from the previous dark American epoch. Had we known, Buckley could have easily been Spark Plug; dammit, Wes Anderson knows how to name a dog.

Of course, as any dog in this millennium must have, Buckley was called by many names:

• Buckley

• Borkley

• Smuckley

• Borkly Borklington from Borktown, the borkliest boy who ever did bork

• Stinky, Stinker, Stinky-Stinkman

• Sir Buckley of Buckleton

• My boy, that’s my boy! [someone imitating the fanfare playing behind Cedric Diggory’s father as he recognizes that his son is dead]

• Monsieur Boucklé

• Bonko

• Buckminster Fuller, Bucky Ball

• The Buckmeister

• Buckly Bucklington

• Bucko

• Buck-man

He was definitely an anxious li’l guy, and, at first, it was hard to leave him alone for anymore than about 30 seconds. Through training, and constant reminders that no matter what happened we’d always be coming back, he eventually transformed into a dog that you could leave alone for a few hours. At the cottage, he was even able to wander around the property, meet the neighbour dogs, and always come back happy and tired out. He took to training classes very well, and was especially good at sitting and waiting to take treats.

The anxiety never completely went away, but it also had a way of being endearing. No one wanted to give more love than Buckley. This was mostly in the form of kisses, an area where he was prodigious. But he could also Velcro himself to you, much like the two Vizslas I’d had years ago. There was nothing quite as insistent and warm as a Buckley cuddle session. He was also a world class smeller. He insisted on smelling everything on every walk, and I’m pretty sure he could have been a great scent hound. I’m also pretty sure that if you look up the term “hang dog expression” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of Buckley.

Buckley on his first day of school, book bag and lunch packed, sad as sad can be

For a street dog and a rescue, I thought it was remarkable how gentle he was. He had no food insecurity or resource guarding issues. He never once even came close to biting anyone outside of nip or scrape playing tugga tugga. He also barked maybe five times in the four years he lived with us. The only reliable way to do it was to make a puppet out of an oven mitt; he did not like that one bit.

But Buckley could have won the Formula One world championship of tail wagging. I know that just sounds like a dog thing, but you can ask anyone who knew this dog and it would generally be their first and last observation. I often joked that he could provide electrical power to a small village with that tail. If he was up and walking around it was always going. If he sat down and you mentioned his name or even looked in his general vicinity, that tail went. The one time we got to meet Elliot, and watch them play together at the park, the tails were in sync and didn’t stop for a good forty minutes. Sometimes that wagging was anxiety, but mostly he was just excited to see you or excited to be doing whatever he was doing.

He spent most of his days curled up by my niece, either in bed on or on the couch; out on many walks in the nearby parks and off-leashes; and his later days, after my niece was off to University, on his dog bed in my office. It gave me great pleasure to turn around in my swivel chair and see him snoozing away; and of course if he happened to wake up, the tail would surely go.

Tell me you can’t love turning around and seeing this!?

Sadly, in late December 2025, we noticed a subcutaneous growth in his groin area. He was off the vet right away, where they determined it was a malignant mast cell tumour. Surgery was a success, and it was determined he’d need to see a veterinary oncologist after a period of rest. Unfortunately, in early May, more tumours appeared, this time spread too far for any likely success or acceptable quality of life after either surgical or medical intervention. Surrounded by his family, he was euthanized on May 14, 2026.

I’d like to take a quick moment to send heartfelt thanks to the team at Junction Pet Clinic, especially Dr. O’Meara and Mary, who showed consummate professionalism and empathy. If you’ve got a pet, and you live in Toronto’s west end, please see the people at JPC.

There is going to be a little hole in my heart (no pun intended) for Buckley. He was a special dog, as all dogs are, but special to us. My fondest memories will be him jumping out of the car after arriving at the cottage, running around to smell his territory, sniff his favourite spots, and pee on every tree and bush. Or out on a hike, running past us in either direction, collar jingling and jangling all the way. Curled up on the couch at Christmas, surrounded by family, seeing if he can convince someone to slide him a potato chip or a cookie. But most of all I will remember how so many people thought he was the sweetest doggo, who just wanted to love you and for you to love him.

Is somethign comin’ down the river?

Goodbye, Buck. Keep on wagging that tail forever.