Bucky Dog: 2, Gordon Ramsay: 0.

Last week, Royal and I went on vacation to Las Vegas for a few nights, just us, and it was LOVELY. There will be Travelogue stories in the next week or so, which may include a haunted magic shop, a multidimensional grocery store, and an emcee so delightfully obnoxious that all I could do was giggle and gape in horror. For now, we’ll start here, with a tale of revenge for our gentle, dumb dog.

This is Bucky.

There are some important facts to know about Bucky.

• He is about 5. We adopted him in January 2021 from Wildhearts Rescue, a Portland-based rescue that brought dogs over primarily from South Korea. He was rescued from a dog meat farm along with his brother Garth, who also lives in Portland.¹

• We think he’s some kind of English or German Shorthaired Pointer, probably.

• He is the gentlest, sweetest dog and just wants to fill your whole lap. And then he farts the most noxious farts in the whole universe.

• Hudson is his bestest friend.

  

  Besties.

• Our friend Megan called him Bucky Two-Hearts because he loves so much but one of his hearts is where his brain should be, and this is apt. The switch is on but the bulb is dim.

• We know he spent most of his first year on a short chain in a gravel construction lot, so he has some weird quirks, especially about his excitement and anxiety levels. Bucky gets very anxious around loud noises and will hide and shake like he’s coming apart. Fireworks, loud pops, raised voices? Terrifying to Bucky, and he will hide in the laundry room or, more lately, in his brother’s bed.

• The thing that Bucky is hiding from in Hudson’s bed in that first picture is the voice he fears the most in the world: Gordon Ramsay.

We discovered this about a year ago while catching up on Kitchen Nightmares. At first, I just thought Bucky was being very cuddly, but he kept shoving himself behind me, and finally he took off. I found him curled up shaking in the bathroom. Weird. We did something else, then went back to Gordon. Nope. Off goes Bucky. Was it because he’s British or raises his voice or Bucky doesn’t want to be called an idiot sandwich? No idea, but this dog is terrified.

We’ve worked with him on it and given him treats (including CBD ones) if we know there will be loud noises, but if Gordon’s voice so much as goes a decibel over conversational, Bucky is doing his best impersonation of a scarf, unless he’s passed out, in which case we can watch all the Gordon Ramsay we want, Bucky CANNOT BE BOTHERED.

Because we are fans of Gordon Ramsay’s shows, on our Vegas trip I wanted to eat at one of his restaurants and score the fabled BEEF WELLINGTON for my belated birthday dinner. We stayed at Caesars Palace which is home to not one but two of Gordon’s restaurants: Hell’s Kitchen Las Vegas and Gordon Ramsay’s Pub and Grill. Hell’s Kitchen was booked pretty solid, but the Pub & Grill had a better prix fixe menu anyway.

Every bite was the best of that thing I have ever had. We started with candied bacon and then got the prix fixe. The onion soup. Amazing. The Wellington and potatoes. Perfect. The sticky toffee pudding? Gordon’s mother’s own recipe, we were told. When we asked how many Wellingtons get made at Caesars Palace every day for the two Ramsay restaurants, our server tells us that it is 1500-2000 A DAY, made in their OWN KITCHEN by 6 DEDICATED CHEFS who just set up an assembly line and go, go, go. And. it. is. so. good.

Royal takes way better photos than I do, so apologies for these shots, maybe I’ll steal his for the Travelogue. At any rate, by the end of the Wellington, we are FULL, and there’s still the toffee pudding to go. I have also, unwisely, selected a large stein of beer because alcohol is EXPENSIVE in Vegas and I figure if I have one big beer, I won’t want another one at the show or anywhere else, so this is a cost-saving measure. Right?

Except it is a lot of beer. And then the server learns it’s my birthday dinner and brings us out two glasses of champagne and I can’t say no to that lovely gesture, right? And Royal doesn’t drink so I have to at least try to drink from both glasses even if I don’t finish to be polite, yeah?

I do not finish the champagne. I cannot finish the beer. I have ashamed my ancestors but there is no room with the meat and the toffee and the soup and the bacon, but I try valiantly. Royal reminds me that we need to get going to make our evening showtime, and excuses himself to the restroom while I try to fit another few milliliters of beer in my body. He comes back, grinning. “You know, I just peed in Gordon Ramsay’s pub. Which, in Bucky dog terms…”

I look at him, realization dawning. “It means you own it now. And Bucky owns us, so we owns the restaurant.”

Royal nods. “And Gordon has another restaurant here…”

Earlier that day, on our way back from shopping and cashing out a slot ticket at another casino, we’d tried to use the bathrooms just outside of Hell’s Kitchen and discovered they were closed to access unless the giant sexy circus show happening outside was going on. The giant sexy circus show that WE NOW HAD TICKETS FOR.

I get up from the table like an ungainly beer-filled parade float² and we start our long walk. Absinthe is in a circus tent all the way on the other side of this huge hotel and I feel my sides groaning like a creaky ship under too much strain. “She’s gonna blow,” I think I mutter at some point in my delirious attempt to keep up with the husband, gliding forward on his long legs without any beer bloating halting his journey, the sober bastard.

We arrive about 10 minutes before showtime and Royal gestures towards the bathrooms. “For Bucky,” he says. “For Bucky but mostly my bladder,” I reply, and then descend into a remarkably ugly set of bathrooms that make me realize that Gordon probably has a nicer set inside for his actual restaurant patrons, but this is more than close enough. We are in the building. I can hear the pots and pans. Bucky’s revenge is complete.

We go to the show. Royal’s Bonafide Magic Trick turns our fine rear-section seats into front row and the acts are phenomenal and led by an emcee who appears to be a cross of an unbathed Snidely Whiplash in a tuxedo and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog but in the best way, somehow, and has an aerial apparatus I’ve never seen before but can never forget. Next posting, more about that. But the show is fabulous, we are unburdened, and we have given Gordon Ramsay The What For and the How Now.

We leave Vegas the next morning. We obtain a toddler and a Buckydog, and resume our lives. I asked Royal a couple nights ago if I could catch up on Next Level Chef. Not his favorite of the Ramsay shows, but he loves me, so yes, of course we’re going to watch that. It’s about half an hour in that Royal stops and says, “Hey. Look at Bucky.”

I turn and Bucky is just sitting on the couch, Hudson leaning on him, and they’re watching the show with us. No shaking. No hiding. Just…chilling.

And why not? Bucky Dog does not fear that which he OWNS.

1  Dog meat farming was banned by law in 2024 in South Korea with an end date of 2027 to shut down all farms. Lots of dogs still need homes but there will be fewer and fewer pups (and hopefully soon no dogs!) needing homes away from the farms!

2  Honestly I’d attend more parades if the floats were filled with beer