Lucy’s Getting Old

 Lucy is getting old. She’s twelve. Her face is snowy white. She has lost a step or two. Each time she lays down or rises up she lets out a low groan. Lately her appetite has dimmed a bit. She can no longer jump up on our bed, or bounce into the back of the car when its time for a trip. This is part of life for any dog. We receive the gift of them for a little over a decade. We never own them. They own us in every measurable way. 

Her two favorites things have always been catching the frisbee in the back yard and going to Maine. When she was young I would say to her, “Get It!!!”, and she would turn her back to me and run like the wind across the back yard. I would throw the frisbee just right so it would come into view over her right shoulder. She would launch herself skyward and pluck it from the air with the grace of an Olympic athlete, then race back to me and lay it at my feet. She would have done it all day if I had let her. Now I have to throw it with less enthusiasm because she’s not as fast. Half the time the frisbee hits her in the face or sails over her head. I don’t think her vision is as sharp as it used to be. But when she catches it she gets that old bounce in her step as she proudly brings it back to me. She limits herself to three passes. Then she lays on the grass with the frisbee still in her mouth gently placing it in front of her. Some days its hard to watch.

Pam and I have had three Golden Retrievers. Lucy has been by far the most difficult. Her many neurosis are well known to regular readers of this space. Our second one, Molly, was basically Pam’s dog. We all loved her and she loved us, but she was Mom’s shadow. Lucy, from the beginning, has been mine. I’m the only one who can get her to come down the stairs. We have had a daily routine since she was a puppy. I sit down in my writing recliner and soon she arrives on the scene to jump up for a scratch. We talk about her day for a while then she gets down and falls asleep at my feet. To accommodate her I have to remove my lap desk and computer from my lap, stopping whatever I might have been busy with. Sometimes she arrives when I’m on a roll with a story. Its just not a good time. But she will not be denied. The whole thing takes maybe five minutes, and I never regret it. Whenever she passes it will be the first thing I miss.

We will bring her to Maine again this summer. She will give us zero trouble on that 14 hour drive. When we make the turn onto New England road she will stand up and start sniffing the air. She will be in heaven for six weeks, swimming and sniffing out all that that gorgeous slice of nature has to offer. She will sleep on the sun-drenched dock, drying out from her latest swim and at some point I will choke up watching her.

I’ve heard it said that although we don’t get to keep dogs for our whole lives, they make our lives whole. If that’s not true, I don’t know what truth is.