LUCY

Notes of Concern…

   …Jack Blair

LUCY

One of the nice things about being a columnist is you can write about almost anything. Over the years I have had to write some sad columns, ones that were cathartic for me. This is one of those. If you are in love with your pets or easily moved to tears, you might want to simply not read this one.

For many years my wife and I have had two labrador retrievers in our household. She was never happy about having two, but I became insistent because our jobs took us out of the house for long periods each day, and I felt my one lab just wasn’t having a very good life, being lonely for most of the time.

So we started having two.

When one would pass, I would be out looking for another. After time my wife said we should not get a second lab. I kept secretly looking. She said she didn't want to have to train a puppy and go through all that stuff again. I kept secretly looking. Our breeders had been predominately from Ohio, so I was in touch with them for suggestions.

One day I received a note saying that the breeder had taken a “pick of litter” expecting the dog to be a show dog but she did not grow to the requirements of length and height. She was eight months old and house trained.

We had always had black male labradors. This was a yellow female. One night at dinner I was telling our fellow diners about a fabulous, trained labrador I had learned about in my search for a puppy and said if any of them were interested, I would give them contact information. 

That was when I got kicked under the table.

Later my wife asked me why I would be offering a lovable, already trained, beautiful labrador to other people.

Victory!

Lucy, originally called “Snowy” by the breeder because of her lovely light yellow coat arrived by plane at a local airport. I picked her up. She had been bathed and fluffed, and when we opened the door at our home, it was love at first sight for my wife and Lucy.

She was a lovely pet. She was playful. She tolerated the cats. She loved to ride in the car. And she was better than ADT at letting us know someone was on the property or at the door.

There was a big difference in my life with this labrador. All the others were with me short periods of time when I was home and not at work. While Lucy lived with us, I was retired and my wife was still working. So every day, 24-7 we were together. She followed me around the house. She ate any leftovers I had on my plate. She went everywhere with me in the car, even if just a short trip to the grocery. She was my companion.

She had been having some trouble with the ligaments in her right hind leg, and she favored that leg, still getting around on the other three. On the last day of her life she sat at my chair watching me eat eggs Benedict, with that soulful look on her face that said “save some for me.” So she got half an order of eggs Benedict and was very grateful. She followed me around that morning. She lay  in front of the fireplace while I read. After lunch I suggest we go outside, and as we walked around the property, she attempted to jump over a low stone fence. Her bad leg did not support her, and her other leg gave way. She landed on the paved driveway, yelping and rolling around on her side. I didn’t know what to do. Someone came along and helped lift her into my SUV. I called the Vet and explained the situation, saying I thought she might have broken her leg.

After the Vet X-rayed her, I was told the situation was not good. The first leg problem was worse. In addition, a new problem had now developed with leg number two. Nothing was broken, but the X-ray showed a large lump of cancer in the spine.

I telephoned my wife who came immediately to the Vet to say her goodbyes. Lots of tears and memories. And then she was gone.

From eggs Benedict at breakfast to being gone in a matter of hours. Eleven years of joy and love, gone in an instant.

I know dogs aren’t humans. They have a short shelf life. But when they pass, it reminds us of our own immortality. The crate is dismantled and packed away. The toys all over the house are picked up and stored. The collars are boxed. And the favorite toy is being laundered by my wife and will remain with us as a memory of our life with Lucy.

We have had to put a lot of dogs down in our 47 years of married life. People think it must get easier. My wife knows that not to be the case. She says every time we have to put one down, all the memories of the others are stirred up.

I expect to see Lucy every time I open the door. I am distraught when I look at the empty space where her crate was kept. I miss her on my lonely car trips. 

But I am ever so happy that she enjoyed eggs Benedict on her last day.