"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's."
- Mark Twain
Last night, on our way out the door, we noticed one of our family dogs was struggling for life. Lucy, my dad's hunting dog, has been in congestive heart failure for a couple of weeks, and we were hoping she would last a few more, but she took a sudden turn for the worse. Really sudden. Yesterday afternoon, she still had a little bounce in her step and was wagging her tail. By six o'clock last night, she could not move and her respiratory rate was through the roof. As we heard her lungs fill with fluid and watched her suffer for a hour and a half, we decided to do the only thing we could for her.
It's been a tough few months in the La Rue house, so I think what broke my heart the most was seeing how vulnerable my dad was. He didn't lose my mom a few months ago, but he lost another companion. Lucy was his first dog ever. He trained her and cared for her. While she was a family dog, she was really his dog. I've only seen my dad cry twice before last night.
Losing Lucy, though, puts into stark contrast how important family is, because in our family, a dog is a fur-person, a valued member of our little clan. My brother and I were able to be home by coincidence, and as we stood in a group hug, I thanked God that we were. I thanked God that we have a strong family whose members are always there for each other, even if they can only lick our faces when we feel bad.
I'm much more than a dog-person; now that I have my own little Sassafrass, I feel, in some small way, like a parent. I literally have anxiety when I'm gone from her sometimes, worrying about if she'll get into something that will harm her or if she is outside, if the other dog will hurt her. I hope she's happy with me as her person.
And I think that this is why losing Lucy is so hard. She wasn't my dog, but she was important to me. We've had her since we moved to Utah. She grew up with my brother and me. My dad had very specific rules for her and that my brother and I liked to break. I always snuck her into my bedroom to sleep on the bed, even though my dad hated that. When we went places in my car, she got to sit on the front seat and not the floorboards. I'll miss her little carefree expressions. She was always excited about something and seemed to say, "Hey! Why isn't everyone as happy as me?!" She was very loyal and snuggly and good.
We'll miss you, Lucy Belle.
