In Loving Memory of Lucy (1991-2005)

So yesterday I went with my mom to have our squishable, loveable, sass-bucket of a family dog, put to sleep.

I am so sad, mainly because I did not spend as much time with her as she deserved (a regret that we all end up feeling when people/animals important to us pass, I know, but potent nonetheless). I am sad because she wasn't taken care of and given as much attention and love on a daily basis as she deserved. I am also sad because it is a terrible terrible thing to play a part in deciding when to end the life of someone you love. Terrible.

She was a good dog--a good dog but a lonely dog, never getting walked and living in a house where people are gone most of the day. She had a sassy bitch attitude and was always really loving. She was a big chubbo with a cheery but sassy disposition. She was a goddamn good dog. And a goddamn sweet one.

Our nicknames for her:

Lubert

Looby

Mooberry

Lu

Moocow

Moobert

Fatty McGee

Bear

Sausage

Silly things she did:

Claw at the fridge and whine constantly for food

Love popsicles

Hate olives

Like to play with centipedes and eat them

Was picky about the type/brand of potato chips she consumes

Must have secretly been half-cat: liked to spend lengthy periods of time cleaning herself and was *crazy insane* about tuna

Console you when you're crying

Other Reasons We Loved Her (Too Numerous to Mention):

The weird gesturings she used to do while lying on her side (which we took to calling "Satanic Dog Gestures" because they made her look like she's possessed).

How she'd let us "drive" her head by petting her ears.

How she was always, always so goddamn excited to see us when we came home.

Watching her run around in over-sized t-shirts that my sisters used to put on her.

The time she threw the buddha bone (the rope toy that dogs have) and it landed in someone's breakfast cereal.

How much she hated the little stuffed dog I bought her and how we used to drive her nuts with it.

When me and my sister Lisee would be home and bored and would entertain ourselves with Lu all afternoon--dragging her around on blankets, "torturing" her with aforementioned stuffed dog.

The way she used to bite crazily at leaves when you threw them at her or snuffle her nose in the first snow of the season.

That my sister used to dress her up in Mardi Gras beads and she used to like it--watching her walk across the yard with a whole bunch of them around her neck like a big princess, trying to find someplace to shit.

When she was a tiny pup and used to run around blindly outside with the water bowl on her head so she couldn't see.

Her corn teeth and how my brother was the only one who could get her to show them to us.

Watching her and my brother wrestle as though they were both sibling dogs.

Having her 800-lb body jamming itself into my bed to sleep next to/on/all over me when I was home from college on breaks and she couldn't get enough of my company.

The way she looked super-skinny and bare when my mom got her shaved except for her big eskimo-hood of a furry head--how I used to call her "Sausage" whenever she got shaved until it grew back in.

I remember when my dad and mom brought her home, hidden under one of their coats. I remember when she was tiny enough you could hold her in the palm of your hands. That dog was a lovely adorable kick-ass sassy woman, and I love the shit out of her and always will. None of my yammering can, of course, capture even an ounce of what I feel about the whole situation, but re-reading Abbie the Cat's sorrow over her best cat friend (Martha the Pirate) passing away made and makes my heart ache in the same way... with understanding. I am not quite so good at saying such things. So in honor of my pup, I direct you there, to read her words and to feel through her words how much it breaks my own heart to see our dog go:

Abbie the Cat on the Passing of Martha

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