By Paul Carrier
Brian McGrory was a divorced, childless, man-about-town with a great job at The Boston Globe who loved nothing more than strolling the streets of Boston with his beloved golden retriever, Harry. Then three things happened that changed his life forever and, not coincidentally, prompted him to write Buddy.
For the second time in his life, Harry developed cancer. This time, though, he didn’t pull through, leaving a shattered McGrory almost too grief stricken to function.
Following Harry’s death, McGrory became romantically involved with Dr. Pam Bendock, the soon-to-be divorced veterinarian who had catered to Harry’s medical needs for some 10 years.
Bendock’s household, which consisted of two young daughters and assorted pets, eventually came to include a chick that one of the girls hatched for a science fair. Initially, that chick was assumed to be a hen, but it matured into a rooster called Buddy (lovingly nicknamed Boo-Boo by Bendock’s daughters).
The mature Buddy, who viewed Bendock and her daughters as his flock, was hostile toward male interloper McGrory from the get-go. “Buddy didn’t like me,” McGrory writes. “Well, actually, that’s not the whole truth. No, the whole truth is, Buddy hated my guts. He didn’t understand the actual point of me.”
And the feeling was mutual.
In this heartwarming and heartbreaking memoir, McGrory offers a breezy but insightful look at how love reshaped his priorities and perspectives. In the process, the author also shows us the power pets have to rewire us. McGrory's affection for Harry is almost all-consuming. Buddy somehow teaches McGrory to become more flexible, appreciative and empathetic. And as a focal point of the evolving relationship among McGrory, his fiancée and her children, Buddy helps transform mother, daughters and stepfather into a family.
For the second time in his life, Harry developed cancer. This time, though, he didn’t pull through, leaving a shattered McGrory almost too grief stricken to function.
Following Harry’s death, McGrory became romantically involved with Dr. Pam Bendock, the soon-to-be divorced veterinarian who had catered to Harry’s medical needs for some 10 years.
Bendock’s household, which consisted of two young daughters and assorted pets, eventually came to include a chick that one of the girls hatched for a science fair. Initially, that chick was assumed to be a hen, but it matured into a rooster called Buddy (lovingly nicknamed Boo-Boo by Bendock’s daughters).
The mature Buddy, who viewed Bendock and her daughters as his flock, was hostile toward male interloper McGrory from the get-go. “Buddy didn’t like me,” McGrory writes. “Well, actually, that’s not the whole truth. No, the whole truth is, Buddy hated my guts. He didn’t understand the actual point of me.”
And the feeling was mutual.
In this heartwarming and heartbreaking memoir, McGrory offers a breezy but insightful look at how love reshaped his priorities and perspectives. In the process, the author also shows us the power pets have to rewire us. McGrory's affection for Harry is almost all-consuming. Buddy somehow teaches McGrory to become more flexible, appreciative and empathetic. And as a focal point of the evolving relationship among McGrory, his fiancée and her children, Buddy helps transform mother, daughters and stepfather into a family.
McGrory’s prose has an effortless feel, yet it is the work of a skilled writer who knows what makes for a compelling tale and how best to tell it.
When McGrory and the gang discover that Buddy is a rooster, for example, the author tells us: “Gone was the demure, henlike creature with the soft rounded head and tentative gait. In its place was a mini-monster with a broad chest, a cherry-red comb sprouting atop its snow-white face, and a walk that oozed the kind of confidence a star lineman would have on his way across the field before the big game.”
Later, after McGrory and Bendock move from her rented house to their newly purchased home, McGrory writes: “If I’d ever imagined suburban life as a fairy tale, me walking through the door like Dick Van Dyke used to do with his son racing out to excitedly greet him, that pretty much went away the first time Buddy leaped up on the front porch in a bid to extricate me from my privates.”
Some readers might grumble that Buddy is heavy on anthropomorphism, or that the real-life Buddy doesn’t hold center stage quite as often as the title of “his” book would suggest.
In fact, Buddy’s presence in McGrory’s new suburban life is but one piece of a larger puzzle that the author explores in this touching, humorous, fast-paced memoir. The rooster muscles his way into the storyline just often enough to deserve star billing, sometimes in spectacularly memorable ways.
If you don’t shed a tear or two and snort with laughter while reading Buddy, you might want to check your pulse. Because you probably don't have one.
When McGrory and the gang discover that Buddy is a rooster, for example, the author tells us: “Gone was the demure, henlike creature with the soft rounded head and tentative gait. In its place was a mini-monster with a broad chest, a cherry-red comb sprouting atop its snow-white face, and a walk that oozed the kind of confidence a star lineman would have on his way across the field before the big game.”
Later, after McGrory and Bendock move from her rented house to their newly purchased home, McGrory writes: “If I’d ever imagined suburban life as a fairy tale, me walking through the door like Dick Van Dyke used to do with his son racing out to excitedly greet him, that pretty much went away the first time Buddy leaped up on the front porch in a bid to extricate me from my privates.”
Some readers might grumble that Buddy is heavy on anthropomorphism, or that the real-life Buddy doesn’t hold center stage quite as often as the title of “his” book would suggest.
In fact, Buddy’s presence in McGrory’s new suburban life is but one piece of a larger puzzle that the author explores in this touching, humorous, fast-paced memoir. The rooster muscles his way into the storyline just often enough to deserve star billing, sometimes in spectacularly memorable ways.
If you don’t shed a tear or two and snort with laughter while reading Buddy, you might want to check your pulse. Because you probably don't have one.
