Why did I name the company Busterfly?

Our Friend's Story

The name Busterfly is a tribute to our wonderful canine friend, Buster.  Buster was a male Neapolitan Mastiff.  He came into our lives one cold February evening.  On my way home from my mother’s house in Brooklyn, NY, I stopped into a small strip mall to drop my brother off to get some milk.  As I parked the car, I saw this black dog, with a white chest, tied to a chain-link fence, sitting there with this expressionless gaze.  I remember thinking to myself, “It’s pretty cold out.  I hope he hasn’t been out here long.”  I was about to go on home, when I decided to go into the store to inquire about the dog.  The cashier told me that the dog was tied up and left there since the morning, and the person never came back.  He said he thought the dog was just abandoned there.   

My brother got his milk, and we both left the store and went over to take a closer look at the dog.  When we got close, I realized that he was sitting there because he was not able to lie down.  The rope was tied tightly around his neck and too tight to the fence.  I saw that he was slightly bleeding from his neck, his back, and his paw.  He was not tall, and was not fat, but he was massive and very intense looking.  He was shaking, and I assumed from being cold.  I wanted to go up to him the see if I could pet him, but my fear of the unknown stopped me.  I could not tell from his appearance and his gaze if he was friendly.  A woman came by and said she had seen him earlier in the day, and was surprised to see him still here.  She said she called Animal Control to come and get him.  I thought that from the look of him, and the apparent wounds, he was probably a fighting dog, and that if Animal Control got ahold of him, they would probably put him down immediately.  I wanted so intensely to touch him, just to give him some level of comfort, but I was still afraid. 

Just then, a man stopped.  He was dressed like a construction worker.  He said the dog was a good-looking dog.  I told him I wanted to pet him, but I wasn’t sure if he was friendly.  Immediately he said, “You can see in his eyes he’s friendly.”  He then walked right up to him and pet him.  The dog was fine with that.  I quickly followed.  As soon as I touched him, I knew I had to do something to help him.  It was about 7:30 in the evening.  I already had a dog, a Doberman named Bridie, and therefore, a Veterinary Doctor I regularly brought her to.  I knew our Vet had office hours until 8pm.  I called her and told her of this dog I came across with these wounds, and asked her if I could bring him in for medical attention and a checkup, but may not get there until after eight.  She said not to worry, just bring him in, and she would wait for us.  My brother and I untied the rope from the fence, and walked the dog over to my car.  I insisted that we put him in the front with me.  My brother was still very concerned for my safety, having this unknown dog in the car with me for the trip back to Staten Island.  He insisted that we tie the rope to the door handle so that he could not get to me in the car, if for some unknown reason the dog wanted to.  I obliged.  Once secured, I told my brother I would call him when I got home, and said goodbye. 

As I drove a few blocks, I could see that the warmth from the car’s heater was soothing to the dog.  He was still shaking, but not as much.  He just sat there and stared at me, with that expressionless face.  I then realized he had been sitting up for God knows how long and now I’m forcing him to still sit up.  At a traffic light I loosened the rope from the car door handle.  He immediately laid down closer to the heat coming from the vent.  At that point, I loved him.  When I got to the Vet, the doctor was waiting for him.  Upon a quick exam, she said she didn’t think his wounds were serious.  She told me to leave him and go home.  She said she would tend to the wounds, look him over to see that he was OK for now, and then give him a thorough exam in the morning.  She said it seemed that what he needed most right now was to rest.  I went home, knowing I left a part of me there at the Vet’s office. 

The next morning the doctor called us.  She told us that she stitched the wounds that needed it, dressed the others, gave him a complete exam, and for the most part, he was in good shape.  She said she thought the wounds were typical wounds from dog fighting and that he was probably being used as a fighting dog, but thought that he didn’t have “fight” in him.  He did not have the temperament of a fighting dog.  She said he was severely bruised around his chest and abdomen where she thought his “owners” kicked him because he wouldn’t fight.   She said he was lucky that they just abandoned him and did not kill him.  Then she said she thought he would make a wonderful friend/member of our family.  We quickly agreed and said we would be right in to take him home. 

When I was in college, I took a course in the history of film.  When we got to Buster Keaton, the incredible silent film actor with the deadpan, stoic look, our professor told us how he got his name.  Joseph Frank Keaton was born to a vaudeville family.  They had many friends in the business.  When Joseph was about 6 months old, his parents had a friend over.  While there, little Joseph fell down a flight of stairs, but was fine in spite of it.  The friend commented something like, “He took some buster there”, as in bad fall.  That friend was Harry Houdini.  The name stuck, and he was known thereafter as Buster Keaton.  It was obvious what we would name our new friend and family member, with the deadpan, stoic look who took a terrible “fall”.  He would become and forever remain, Buster. 

He always kept that look, and somehow it affected everyone he met after that.  Everyone he met fell in love with him.  Friends who outright didn’t like dogs, or were very afraid of them, would tell us he was different, and they “fell” for him, or that “he got to me.”  As I mentioned earlier, he was black, with a white neck and chest.  I’ll never forget a wonderful friend who would stop her car after seeing us walking Buster, jump out and run over to get down on the ground to hug him.  Once I asked her why she always did that and she replied, “I’ve always fallen for men in tuxedos.”  

After the first day of his new “good life”, he gave us a gift that he never stopped giving.  Every time we went near him, he rolled over on his back and stretched out his four legs like he was flying, pushing up his chest and stomach.  Remember, those were the parts that they kicked.  So you would think that those were the parts of him he would be most cautious and protective with.  But not to us.  We believe he was telling us that he knew we were the ones that replaced the hate and hurt in his life with love and care, and that, as a result of it, he fully and unequivocally trusted us and thanked us.  He never stopped trusting and thanking us.  Every day of his beautiful and wonderful life with us, countless times a day, if we walked near him, he rolled over, stretched out his legs like he was flying, pushed up his chest and stomach, and said, “I trust you and I thank you.”  Imagine that, every day, every time.  

Eventually, one day he stretched out his legs and arms and he did fly away from our lives.  After a short battle, he died at home of prostate cancer.  We called a local animal funeral service to come and take his body to be cremated.  Before they came, we invited a couple of friends over and had our own private spiritual funeral (goodbye) service for him.  Then the funeral service people came, put his body on a stretcher, covered him, and carried him out to their van.  We walked out with them to say our final goodbye.  As we walked over to the van, a butterfly flew around Buster’s body.   We looked at each other and instinctively knew that from that moment on, every butterfly we ever saw again would now be known as Busterfly, and every time we saw one, we would think of him and smile in our hearts.  We did, and we still do, every time.