Lucky

Our Beloved Lucky

November 5, 1995 – March 1, 2010


Yesterday, March 1, 2010, I had to put our beautiful 15 year old Golden Retriever to sleep. Lucky had been having difficulty walking off and on since Christmas, with his hind legs periodically slipping out to his left side leaving him unable to get back up. Over the last few days he had worsened and, this past Saturday, I heard him bark in a way that I had never heard him before – hoarsely and with desperation – because he had fallen in the livingroom. I was cooking in the kitchen and had not seen him fall. I helped him the minute I realized, but he fell several more times during that day. Like every day – although maybe more so – Lucky tried to follow me to every room I was in, despite the increasing struggle that it was for him to get up each time to do so. Loyal and loving, surely he was an old soul. I think that he knew his time was near, and he did not want to be alone.

I remember the day that I first saw him – November 5, 1997 – when he was a 2 year old rescue dog with Gold Ribbon Rescue in Georgetown. He ran across the field and up the old wooden stairs to the front porch of the old blue-gray country house where Maura Phelan lived. His name was Rocky that day, a temporary name they had given him, and he was so glad to see me and I was overjoyed to see him. I felt that I recognized him the first minute I saw him, and he recognized me, too. - he really was our dog. I sat down in my work dress on the dirty porch and greeted him, and he licked me and put his head in my lap. When we took him home, we were all overjoyed. We took a family vote to change his name to Lucky, as in Lucky Dog, but we knew that we were the lucky ones.

I know that Lucky had a comfortable and loving home, and that he loved the life he had as part of our family. Kevin and Jeff and I were his world. He and I used to take long walks every evening, until he no longer had the stamina. I remember the night that Kevin had to drive up to Winter Park Road to get Lucky because he could no longer make it up the hill that we walked every day for so many years. Ironically, on the last day of Lucky’s life, we did more living in a way than we ever could in the day to day busyness of life. I am glad that it was already March, with the feeling of spring in the air. That day, the clouds gathered for a big storm that never materialized, and the sun came out unexpectedly – at just the right time that Lucky and I could lie in the grass together for awhile before we went to his vet one last time. I could not remember if I ever lay in the grass with Lucky before (I know the kids did), but I wish I had done it every day because it was lovely. His coat got very warm and I think he enjoyed me petting him and telling him over and over what a good dog he is. We “painted” 2 small paintings together using his right paw print with succeeding colors of bright yellow, orange, red, blue and green. I am sure that Lucky never thought of himself as an artist before but in an everyday way he was - “painting” the floor with washable paw prints on a daily basis. I remember that I sometimes felt frustrated on rainy days with having to clean up the muddy prints, but really I wouldn’t mind if I had to clean them every day for the rest of my life if it meant that we could keep him longer.

Despite the desperate bark and the pleading look he gave me on Saturday, as if to say “DO something,” and even though I knew he did not have much time left as his health was slipping away, I still agonized as to whether I was making the right decision for him. This morning, with the sun streaming in the front window as I am typing this, I know that it was the right decision because he did not die alone. Instead, on that last day, I sat on the living room floor and fed him a last meal of marinated salmon and roasted chicken with mashed potatoes from my hand. The two gifts that I got were knowing that he clearly loved it (and the lemon meringue pie that he had this past weekend), and feeling my fingers licked by him one last time. That day, he “painted” and created something of himself that I will always treasure. He rolled in the grass and then lay quietly with me there for awhile. I took some clippings from his coat, explaining to him what I was doing and why – that the clipping of a small bit of fur from his chest was so that I could remember how brave he was, and the fur from his paw was to remember how he ran like the wind when he was younger. The fur from his right ear was to remember how he listened to all of us, and to help me remember to do that more with everyone I love. And lastly, I told him that the fur from his tail was to remember that he was a happy dog and that he made us happy. I gave him flowers – a beautiful little bouquet of bright yellow daisies and red, yellow and pink carnations, and I wondered why people don’t give flowers to dogs and to people they love every single day.

My dear friend Mary Lou met us at the vet and I will be forever grateful to her for this as I am not sure that I could have helped Lucky in this way without her. So, instead of dying alone – something that I think we are all afraid of – Lucky lay on a soft rug in the center of the floor at Dr. Van Winkle’s office. He laid his head in my lap and I told him over and over again how much we all loved him and that he was a good dog an that he was going to get to see his mom and that he would be a puppy again and that he wouldn’t be in pain anymore and that we would be able to run like the wind again and that I will see him again in heaven and how much we love him. I told him about the dream I had several weeks ago that he was running through a waterfall and that he looked exactly as he did on the day I first met him and that he looked so happy in my dream. I rocked him gently, and I kissed his face over and over, my tears making his red-gray fur damp. All the while, he had four people petting him and stroking him until he was relaxed. The vet, who has been his doctor for all of the years that Lucky was ours, gave him some IV medication to help him relax and soon he was snoring in my lap. Dr. Van Winkle told us that we could have as much time as we wanted with before she came back in to give him the remaining medicine that would allow him to peacefully slip away. And that he did, with all of the love that could fill a room, on that soft carpet, with people he knew, and not alone at all. It is for this last bit of grace that I am most grateful, that he was surrounded by people who loved him instead of dying alone one day while I was at work.

Lucky was part of our family. Last night when I got home, I lit some candles for him. As I lay in bed later trying to go to sleep, my eyes puffy and red from crying so much, I thought I heard him – and actually I am sure that I did. This morning, although I have been awake for 2 hours, I have not made breakfast. I am not sure if that is because I do not feel hungry, or because I know that there is no one to share my peanut butter and jelly sandwich with (oh how he loved peanut butter and jelly!), as we has done every morning for so many years. When I think if Lucky, I will think of a life that was well lived. I will remember the unconditional love he showed us every single day and try to be more intentional in showing the people I love how much I love them. I will smile when I remember that Lucky had a sense of humor when he would lay on his back with his paws up to his mouth, in what we liked to call his “bunny” pose. He knew that when he did that he was irresistible and that he would likely get his tummy rubbed for a time. His name was Lucky, but we were the lucky ones. Lucky, thank you for the incredible joy you brought to our lives. We will be seeing you again . . .