Phantom Felines And Other Ghostly Animals - Gerina Dunwich 2006

Buttons and the Blue Gingham Bow
Hounds and Hauntings

by Lisa Armstrong

One of the first things my parents deemed necessary was to fulfill a child’s version of the American dream … to own and care for a pet of our own. In May of 1972 we adopted a beautiful little black Lab/mix puppy that my brother and I named Buttons. I was five years old at the time, and we had just moved into our first house in Marietta, Pennsylvania. Within a month, my brother and I grew very close to this little package of love.

The remnants of Hurricane Agnes came to visit and play havoc on our little riverside town that June. The storm may not have had the horrible winds of a Category 5 hurricane, but its size, which covered around a thousand miles, was catastrophic as far as the rain went. So, my family was forced to evacuate our newly moved into home, and leave our precious little Buttons behind.

I remember my fear and anger for having to leave Buttons behind, but Dad told us she would be fine, and that the water would reach our basement only. If by some nightmare the water rose higher, he said he would get there in time to take her somewhere safe.

Like he said, we got four feet of water in our basement. It never reached the upstairs. He went to the house a few times a day to feed Buttons and tie her to the balcony so she could get fresh air. One day, he went back to check on her, and to his horror she was not there. I thought for sure she ventured into the murky water of the Susquehanna and drowned. I cried my heart out and prayed for God to keep her safe and let us find her. Praise God, someone did find that little vagabond wandering Market Street. And through word of mouth, we were reunited. This made my bond with this special dog even stronger.

As I grew up, I found myself confiding my deepest, darkest secrets to her as only an eight-year-old could do. I remember holding her close when she ran to greet me every day after school. I was very overweight and more often that not, other students chanted harsh names at me during the school day. I would hold it inside all day so they couldn’t see how much they hurt me with their cruel words. But when I got home, I would hold Buttons tight and press my chubby face against her velvet coat and cry my little heart out. She always seemed to understand and licked my tears away.

In 1982, I was in the tenth grade and Buttons was ten years old. My family decided to move to a neighboring county. It was the middle of the school year and I was terrified to move to a new home and new school. I worried about Buttons, too. She only knew this house and this town. Buttons did okay with the move but her disposition changed and I guess, like a human, the stress of it all made her age.

By the following January, her health was failing. When she started having accidents, she would look at us with those big pitiful brown eyes. You could see the shame and I felt so sorry for her. Dad would get angry, thinking Buttons was getting too lazy to go outside.

I remember comforting her. It was my pleasure to return the kindness she always showed me. She would lay her head on my lap and I would pet that wonderful dog until she fell asleep.

My brother tied a blue gingham bow to her collar. It seemed to make her feel pretty, and she liked the fuss we made over her. When her accidents continued, we took her to the vet and Buttons was diagnosed with diabetes. We had to put her down.

I was heartbroken. My mom was worried about me and told me she was going to take me to a psychiatrist if I didn’t soon snap out of it. But I lost my best friend. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I just felt so lost. My brother wanted the bow to remember her by, but it had disappeared. We looked everywhere for it but to no avail.

A few months later, still very depressed, I walked around our huge backyard just thinking of every memory of Buttons that I could. I walked over to the far side of our yard where it met up with an overgrown lot and an adjoining stream.

I thought I heard something walking in the weeds, swishing and crunching as it made its way toward me. I stopped and stood very still, thinking maybe it was a rabbit. I walked along the weeds toward the noise. I stopped once more and found myself standing there watching the high, dead weeds sway a bit as my “rabbit” made its way toward me.

As it got close enough for me to see down into the base of the weeds where the movement was occurring, I was shocked to see nothing there. I wondered if it was a ghost. Still, I wasn’t afraid. I stood very still as the movement inched closer and closer, stopping when it reached the edge of the weeds right in front of me. Then it was still. Nothing.

I looked down at my feet. There, lying between them was that little gingham bow that belonged to Buttons. She wanted me to know she was okay. It was her way of telling me she would always be with me in one form or another. Despite a wet and windy winter the bow was clean and showed no signs of distress. I picked it up and held it close to my heart and whispered to the weeds, “Thank you, Buttons, I will always love you, too.”

After that experience I slowly started to come out of my depression. We even got another dog. Her name was—Bow, of course.