I Loved Lucy.
I once wrote a small volume and gave it this particular
title.
I really did love Lucy.
She was of mixed Corgi lineage. I adopted her from the local
SPCA when she was already all of seven or eight. And I suppose the only reason
she “received a reprieve,” was due to the fact that she was the only small dog
in the place that day. Our dear pooch lived another six years, but the time was
approaching for someone to make a decision about,
… well, you know.
Lucy was already displaying some marked arthritis when one day
I allowed her to jump down from the car, and upon landing I noticed her poor
little hips kinda swiveled. She was never the same after that, and no doubt
that incident sped her ultimate demise.
Eventually I made the decision that the time had arrived.
Though I attended my previous pooch, Buddy, the entire night
before her death, (yes, Buddy was a “she”) she died a natural death, and it was
just different. I simply couldn’t transport my Lucy to “the death chamber;”
(much less, hang out and watch her drift away).
But at the same time, I had made some preliminary plans to
make her transition easier. (At least, it made her passing easier for me).
I fed that dear little girl some choice morsels of meat for
breakfast, and in spite of the pain, her
appetite was fine, and she gobbled it all down.
Next, I packed Lucy in the passenger seat of my car, and we
went for a ride. Throughout the drive I talked to her; about so many things.
How that on our way home from having adopted her at the SPCA I assured her of
the reality of heaven, and would she be interested in going there one day?
About the enjoyable moments we’d spent together. And of course I alluded to the
experience which awaited her later in the day.
I may have imagined it, but seemed to me that my Lucy was
especially attentive to my words.
As I have previously inferred, I had to enlist someone else
to do what was due to be done next. My brother-in-law, Clarence, and my
sister-in-law, Sue were happy to assist me with the task.
My wife and I walked Lucy outside to wait for my in-laws. However,
I decided to head over to my mother’s house, rather than watch the proceedings.
Of course, as I prepared to leave, I picked up my beloved pooch for the last
time, and assured her of my love for her, and set her down on the pavement.
Later my wife told me something that I would have been just as well to have
never heard.
“After you got in the car, and drove down the street, Lucy
followed you with her eyes the entire way; ‘til you were out of sight.”
(Every time I recount her words, I can’t help but tear up).
At any rate, shortly after I drove away, Clarence and Sue
arrived. Clarence drove, and Sue sat in the back seat with Lucy. Jean told me
that they had arrived in nicer than average attire, as if they recognized the
solemnity of the occasion and wished to celebrate my sweet pooch’s life.
I learned later that Lucy had willingly gone with them, and
seemed to enjoy her second ride of the day. Once the trio arrived at the vet’s
office, they were escorted into an exam room where one or the other of my
in-laws whispered some comforting words in Lucy’s ear, and Clarence held her
while the doctor administered the hypodermic. And much like that poignant scene
in the movie, “Marley and Me,” little Lucy just gently closed her eyes,
… and drifted off to sleep.
I have previously written about my favorite cartoon in the
whole world. In it we see an older gentleman stepping up to the pearly gates.
Behind a podium stands the Apostle Peter, and to his left is an obviously
energetic pooch.
The caption?
“So you must be Bob. Rover here has been “going on” about
you for the last 50 years!”
The exact same figment I maintain about those dear animals
which I have known and loved,
… and whom I have every reason to believe I will see again.
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