My husband Daniel and I travel frequently. When we first got our dog, Buddha-tu (we call him Buddhi), we were concerned that he would be lonely or perhaps feel that we'd abandoned him when we left him at home during our trips away.

When we left, we always had someone stay in our house and look after Buddhi, so we knew he was well taken care of, but we still felt guilty. I even used to leave my husband's T-shirt for Buddhi to sleep with and made sure he got extra goodies each day we were gone. Still, I used to wonder what he made of the whole thing -- did he miss his lovin's, "his rub-a-dubs and belly pats," sleeping by our bed, taking walks with us -- and who was going to play ball with him while we were away? Was our absence too traumatic for him? I supposed I would never know.

But then one night when we called home, Buddhi made it quite clear what he missed the most when we were gone.

We reached our housesitter, Barbara, and had her put us on the speakerphone, so that we could talk to Buddhi. He immediately started barking and howling when we heard our voices. We were jabbering at Buddhi like a pair of fools, when we noticed we couldn't hear him anymore. Barbara told us he had run out of the room.

What was he doing? I wondered uneasily. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to call home -- perhaps Buddhi was confused and was searching the house for us. When he couldn't find us, would he become upset and try to get outside to continue the search? What if he tried to jump through a window? My imagination ran away with me, and I couldn't stop it. I thought, Poor baby, he misses us so much, hearing our voices had just made it worse. I urged Barbara to go and find him. My husband and I decided to try and coax him back into the room by continuing to talk to him.

Barbara ran after him to see what was going on and almost tripped over him as he raced back into the room, holding something in his mouth. He bounded to the phone, where we were still spouting endearments in a highly embarrassing manner.

We heard Barbara laughing in the background, and then she picked up the phone and told us that Buddhi had approached the phone, and had stood for a moment, head cocked. Then he carefully put his front paws up on the desk and set down the object in his mouth. It was his favorite ball. He put it directly on top of the speakerphone and stepped back -- waiting for us to throw it.

By Susan White
from Chicken Soup for the Cat & Dog Lover's Soul
Copyright 1999 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen