When I was younger, I used to pray for my Prince Charming to find me. I was sometimes lonely, and I wanted a companion with whom I'd travel through life. God answered my prayers, but not as I expected. He sent me a dog. Yea God! Good move on Your part.
Lucy Dogge was my first pet as an adult. We met in Atlanta, Georgia. My sister had a home there, and I flew down one day with an empty dog crate and every intention of filling it with a dog from the local pound. Helen and I spent an afternoon walking up and down the kennel. Helen kept steering me to a sad looking beagle on his last days; but, sweet as he was, the beagle just didn't call my name. She also kept steering me away from the filthy, scrawny, flea-infested grey poodle with pleading eyes. When I saw another visitor considering the poodle, I snapped up the card and Ladybird was mine. I promptly renamed her Lucy after my favorite comedienne and my favorite soap opera actress.
Lucy was a mess. Within twenty-four hours, she'd infested my sister's house with fleas. I bathed her and thought she was bleeding because the bath water turned red from the Georgia clay caked in her fur. She had to be spayed, and she was shaved at the vet's. When they brought her out to me, I didn't recognize the bundle in the tech's arms. "That's my dog?" I yelped. "What the heck did you do to her?" She looked like a big naked rat. Helen and I drove the dogs back to Pennsylvania to visit their grandparents. At every pit stop, folks would fawn over Helen's basset. They'd look at mine and ask, "What is it?"
Eventually, Lucy got her cute back. She wore ribbons in her hair making her ears look like ponytails. She gladly dressed in costumes. Kids came to the house at Halloween more excited about seeing Lucy in her costume than about the candy. Everybody in my new neighborhood knew her and her mom. One of the neighbor boys would knock on my door and ask if Lucy could come out and play. He'd cuddle up with her on the steps and tell her all of his secrets. When his mom, who could see my steps from their house, called him home to dinner, he'd open the door and let her in. My students frequently made me laugh when they used her as the main character in their creative writing stories. Lucy the Wonder Dog was quite a sleuth! She loved to be outside, so she'd hold court on my steps and greet the world as it passed by our house.
Lucy's health was not the best. Her first teeth cleaning resulted in her losing a bunch of teeth. By the end of her days, she'd get pink bows in her hair to match the pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. Helen once took my niece to a pig roast. When Reba was gifted with a pig tooth, she said she was going to give it to Lucy because she didn't have many of her own teeth. My dog's back was bad, but my vet at the time took good care of her. I will always be thankful for Dr. Thompson. When I vacationed in Europe, my parents babysat the dog. Her back went out. Dr. Thompson stayed open so they could bring her down (an hour and a half drive), and he refused to charge them for the visit. Despite her poor health, Lucy lived to be seventeen years old. I will always believe the power of love sustained her.
I was with her when she took her final sleep. My colleagues at work were as compassionate and caring as if I'd lost a human child. My students were sad for me. Some cried. Many told me about their dead pets. All of them treated me gently for days. If you know middle school children, you know that good behavior does not come naturally to them. I was touched.
I didn't know if I'd ever be able to own another dog. But two months later, I was looking at FARM's page of adoptable dogs. I wanted one very different from my Lucy, so I wouldn't compare them. Then, I spotted Trixie's picture. She looked like she was smiling, so I decided she was smiling at me. I brought her home, and she was, indeed, very different from little Lucy.
How different you ask? Look for a future blog about Trixie the Demon Dog. I will reveal her secrets then.
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