Dear Friends,
Lucy, our little beige poodle-mix, is the first dog I have ever had. When we found her at the Atlanta Humane Society, she weighed barely five pounds, had more than a few fleas on her, and was the cutest thing on four paws. Never having responsibility for a pet before, I wasn’t sure if we were doing the right thing by bringing her into our lives. Would I find the time for potty training, the trips to the vet, baths, daily walks, and all the other things that go along with being a good pet guardian?
Well, of course, I did. And Gail and I frequently remark that Lucy is one of the best things that ever happened in our lives.
It’s been over 15 years since we first met Lucy and took her home with us. She has aged, as we have, but we also know that she is nearer to the end of her life. Her hearing is almost completely gone. She has cataracts in both eyes, is unable to climb stairs, and is considerably slower on her favorite afternoon walks. She also can’t “hold it” the way she used to, so Gail and I take turns getting up with her at 4:00 am (or sometimes earlier) to take her outside to do her business. Lucy is always happy upon awakening and spins in circles as one of us, bleary-eyed and jolted out of solid REM sleep, puts her collar on.
Holding her warm body in my arms, I stumble down the stairs and out the back door on those mornings when it’s my turn. Lucy does her job like a good girl and then wanders around her familiar and favorite back yard sniffing and exploring.
Usually I stand outside in my PJs and an overcoat, waiting and looking up at the night sky. On a clear evening, the stars are so brilliant! Wavelengths emit colors of blue and yellow and white and red. I breathe in the cold air, tired, but grateful, knowing that only Lucy could awaken me from slumber and my forgetfulness . . . and give me this wee-hours-of-the-morning experience of awe and wonder.
I know it won’t be long before this night shift routine comes to an end. It’s not something that’s easy to think about. But, in the meantime, we’ll go into the backyard together, sniffing the night air and reveling in the awesomeness of being alive.
Yours,
Terry