Friday, September 19, 2014
This was Lucy’s last day on earth with me and Val, Rob, and mom. “The white dog” is gone. On Monday, we had company: two long-time friends whom I had not seen in a while. Upon seeing Lucy, Anne commented that I should not be cruel, but put her down. I saw pain in Lucy’s eyes for the first time. It broke my heart. But I wanted so much for Lucy to die in my arms and not on a vet’s cold examination room table.
I had my wish, perhaps sooner than I had hoped. This morning, we started out as usual, but a little later, as I was ill. Aunt Betty called at 7:30 instead of 7:00. I had already fed the kids and decided to give Lucy an extra dollop of yogurt. Glad I did. I peeled off her diaper. Betty had already attached her lead, and off we went.
She did her business on various lawns, and I did my usual cleanup with my Gore-Tex lined shoes—a must on wet lawns. Uncle Dick was not at home, so we didn’t stop for our usual bit of cookie. Instead, we made our way around the corner, where we first saw Sam (Samantha), a cute little black puppy. At first both dogs were quiet, but Val started barking and jumping and Lucy joined in. A minute later, after Sam and her dad walked away, Lucy faltered and fell, tongue hanging, head twisting. I held her, I held onto her for dear life, righted her head, and tried to restore her tongue in her mouth, but I knew she was gone. Her heart was still beating—beating down. Her eyes were fixed. Betty kept yelling at me to get the car, but I wouldn’t let go of Lucy. I didn’t want to leave her. The minute I did, she left, too. I ran crying to get the car. My own chest was beating. Still sobbing, I aroused Rob. Told him that Lucy was dead or dying. He rose with a start. We drove back together for her little body.
Such a gathering: Sam and her dad had come back. Lois was there with Kirk and the woman who walks Yuki was there, too. All friends come to say good-bye and express their sorrow.
Rob loaded Lucy’s little body into the car onto her LL Bean dog bed, still embroidered with her original name, Candy. The same dog bed and the same car, mind you, that I picked her up in 14 years ago. We were living in Pottstown then. I had been ill with the flu and the previous owner insisted that I pick her up as soon as possible. A horrible woman! I drove the 3.5 hours (each way) for my first glimpse of a scruffy while poodle with stuff in her eyes. She ran to me at the front door, where I begged the owner’s children not to give her any treats. I had been warned that she becomes car sick. The children ignored me. Little devils. I gave Lucy the half tablet of Dramamine and off we went, while the former owner bade us, “Good riddance!”
As I neared Pottstown, I called Rob, who met me with Lorenzo, our wonder dog, on the Sunnybrook Ballroom lot, neutral territory. Lorenzo was not terribly excited. I suspect he knew she would be a hellion. For 3 months, I was unable to sleep. Lucy peed through the night, and I cleaned with the Spot Bot. At one point, Rob insisted that I get rid of her. She was a difficult dog, and she ran after foxes, a dangerous thing. We didn’t have a fence then, and I was used to Lorenzo’s excellent behavior. But I kept her, and she was worth it. She had seal-like eyes. I sometimes called her my Harp Seal. Lucy was delicate and beautiful, and now she is with her step-brother, Lorenzo. I always recall a little girl back in the early 70s, when I lived in Princeton. She would say that she was “fenamin and beautiful.” I said the same of Lucy: she was truly fenamin and beautiful.
Mom has been talking about Lucy all day. She asked several times how she died. Each time I explained that it was probably a heart attack. And she told me not to cry. Although I told mom about her sister’s death on Monday, she has not said a word about it since. Rose had become an abstract figure. Lucy was concrete. She saw Lucy every day and loved “The White Dog.” She’s so quiet. I like The White Dog, mom would say. We will all miss Lucy. Our hearts are broken.
Later—
Valentino is demonstrating what it is to be hangdog. He spent most of the day moving from the couch, head on his pillow, to the window seat. When Lucy was with us–last night seems like an age ago–Val would refuse to go out for his evening potty break unless she went with him. He would wait by the opened door, unmoving. I would have to herd Lucy out, then Val would follow. Tonight, he would go solo. And so he did. I waited for him dutifully. Didn’t want him to linger out there by the door alone. It was Lucy who used to scratch the door to come in. Val just waited quietly. It was Lucy who would bark if I took too long to let her in. Val would wait quietly. But of course, he wasn’t quiet when it came to play time. I would have to ward him off Lucy many, many times. He was hard on her—knocking her over, biting her hind legs, chewing on her back. But it was mostly for play. Although, there were times she had had enough, and she let him know it. Still, I couldn’t merely watch while he did his crazy act on her. There were times I intervened. And so I did.
The little boy is now bereft, as are Rob and me. Mom’s attentions have been turned to her new shoes, however. I bought her a new pair of slippers. She asks me if they fit. I tell her over and over that she is the only one who can determine that. I tell her that if they don’t hurt, it’s a good start.
I have spent a wad on two pairs of shoes. One pair is simply too tight. They are exactly the same kind she wore for years, but the old ones were broken in. The second pair are sandals of a type she is not used to with broad Velcro leather straps. She claims they are heavy. And they are clunkier than usual, but also of a very high quality. Both pairs of shoes are Made in America. My goal. However, I also bought her a pair of slippers, a half size larger. They also have Velcro closures and sturdy soles. These are not made in the USA, unfortunately, but at least they were inexpensive. Mom kept calling me in to see if the shoes fit. She has grown quite used to the clunky sandals. At least she will be able to wear those with socks through the winter.
As for the events of the day, tomorrow we will learn if mom remembers Lucy’s passing or if we will need to tell her for the first time, again and again.
My dear, sweet Lucia, my little Harp seal with the big beautiful dark eyes, we miss you terribly. I would give anything to see you jump again and bark at one of those yippy little rat-sized dogs that come wimping by. (Lucy despised little yippy dogs. They must have reminded her too much of the Yorkie she was initially raised with and who received all the attention and affection.) Requiescat in pace, my little sweetheart.
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