Indeed; Everybody Loves Lucy

I will forever remember the first day we met. In that instant, I laid eyes on you; it was true love at first sight. Love in its purest, most natural form. A once-in-lifetime chance kind of love.

Our initial encounter occurred after years of endless scrolling rescue agencies' websites, looking at pictures and reading bios of hundreds of dogs. It must have been nearing two years before I saw the photo of your beautiful black and chocolate-brown face. Your brindle back seemed to have patterns “with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.” It wasn't just your photo; your name drew me to you, Lucy.

I had booked an appointment with a shelter while working a few days in the city. When I arrived, I was surprised to hear all the girls working, and volunteering say, "Oh no, not Lucy!" They were all so fond of you. They told me they loved bringing you home with them “on a train” in the evenings. I pictured you “in a station; there at the turnstile.” They all said that you gave the best snuggles.

I will never forget that glance; at that moment, I was “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes” locking with yours which sparkled like “diamonds.” Your eyes were like round chestnuts and held the trauma of a past in which you could not speak to tell the tale; however, the severed tip of your tiger-stripped tail and sensitive hips told me your painful story.

As soon as the volunteer at the shelter gave us your toys, I saw the weight on your shoulders lighten and your eyes glisten. We played together—first kicking around a squeaky football and then a game of tug-of-war. You barked happily with the most prominent, goofiest grin, and I knew you were the one.

Having spent quite some time considering what life would be like with a second companion. I knew the challenges bringing a second female dog home would pose with an alpha female, husky malamute cross at home waiting. As stated on your application, I was aware of the risks of integrating a Pit-Bull Terrier. I always thought you were more likely on the lines of being a purebred Staffordshire Terrier than a pit bull. Not that it mattered to me what breed you were, so I never bothered with DNA testing.

My sweet little twinkle-toed staffy, I called you because of the long 'quicks' of your nail, making trimmings challenging due to previous years of over-growth. You always feared getting your nails trimmed. I assumed someone in your past must have clipped you causing you to bleed, having made you so nervous. We shared this nervousness equally; however, I only nicked the quick of your claw once, eight years into our friendship, proving to be as awful as we both had imagined.

Being told that you were terrible with cats, I admit, I fibbed on my application about owning a cat as they would have most likely denied the adoption otherwise. I wasn't worried because you were so perfectly polite; I knew it wouldn't take much effort to break you of any instinctual prey drive.

I signed all the paperwork, and it came time for us to leave as a volunteer passed your leash into my hand. I stood there patiently, “waiting to take you away” as you said your goodbyes. The team wasn’t ready to see you go but happy you found a forever home because "Everybody loves Lucy."

When I opened the door to my station wagon, you “climbed in the back” seat, settled right in and prepared for the ride. We took a moment; I told you I was yours forever, then turned the radio on and your song played for the first timeー, “and she’s gone.”

*****

Of course, you had your share of quirks, but these imperfections were what drove our bond to strengthen. You did not come with much history or a birthday to celebrate. It was that day of adoption, that cold day in January, that we made warm and unique each year. You were estimated to be around two and a half, but no one could be certain. You had essential vet records, but no one could tell me all that much. They did, however, inform me of your previous adoption. You had a home for nine months, and then you were returned by a woman due to pregnancy and the uncertainty of your breed with infants. I could not imagine ever returning you to the shelter. How much more it must have traumatized you, having been teased with a loving forever home only to return behind bars? I always sympathized with your anxiety.

Initially, you were so aggressive on a leash and in the car when spotting another dog, instantly protective which seemed to terrify people passing by. Your defensive demeanour surprised me as it was something the shelter failed to mention. I remember at the beginning having to muzzle you in the cities to prevent an outburst reaction, which seemed to terrify people of you more, as a muzzled "bully breed" is so cliché, appearing dangerous.

While muzzled, I would watch people drag their children to the other side of the street as we approached. Slightly saddened, but I couldn't help but giggle quietly. If only they knew how much of a suck you were. Not just to me, but to anyone, including children and even other dogs off-leash. You never posed any problem. It was just protective, anxious dog behaviour; the moment you were off-leash or out of the vehicle, you were sweet as “marshmallow pie.” It took some perseverance to break these particular bad protective habits, as, in all honesty, it made me feel safe as a petite 5'2 young lady. You were kind of badass, and I felt stronger knowing people feared you, even if only because of illusion and bias. I walked proudly beside you.

I loved knowing you were there to protect my vehicle. That was until I almost ran a red light into traffic from the distraction of you barking insanely. You were worth every moment of training. I loved our training time together and am sorry I made you wear that awful muzzle during our first year together, but I was young and learning too.

I didn't blame you for being terrified of sudden movements and men. In the beginning, if I moved too quickly or told a story with too much excitement, you would yelp loudly and run. This deep-rooted abuse took a couple of years to rebuild your complete trust with men. You were so timid, yet undeniably sweet and gentle.

I also remember you being terrified of water. The day we made the trip home to the country, there had been a blizzard the night before, but the sun shone brightly on us when we reached the gates that afternoon. There were so many things you were unexposed to, coming from such a large city into the forest. I'll never forget your first reaction.

After a positive first introduction with my husky Pollux, we went for a walk down the path to the river. At the time, we lived on a 40-acre private island. I watched you “follow her down to a bridge” by the Little Slocan River. The sun glistened brightly on the freshly fallen snow, and you ran about like a child after her first snowfall with so much excitement. A friend who also lived on the land was off work early that day, so he came along, and we built a pair of snowmen as we blew fresh sparkling handfuls of powder for you and Pollux to taste.

You acted as if you had never before seen a river; most likely, you hadn't. I watched you bound through the white pillows. Burring your “head in the clouds” and disappearing amongst the powder before you would “appear on the shore.” You and Pollux resembled two sheep covered in snow. You watched Pollux with your ears perked as she swam out repeatedly, fetching a stick. I observed as you wanted to play the game, but you were not about to try to swim; you would have preferred “a boat on the river” to float as “everyone smiles as you drift past.”

After about an hour, Pollux must have convinced you to stick your toes in; I know it wasn't me that was able to convince you. The freezing glacier-fed water startled you almost as much as your protective barking had started me on our first leashed walk together. I will never forget how you jumped back and scoffed in disbelief. It took weeks before you would go in up to your knees, only for a moment.

After a few hours, you were cold, so I gave you my warm, green-velvet vest, which fit you perfectly, except for the hood “towering over your head,” nearly covering your eyes. Having such a broad chest, you were always too wide or your torso too short for a dog jacket. It became impossible to find a good fit, so my vest became yours for the cold months. I wear it now this fall and think of you.

It was months later, in the warmth of summer, before you would attempt to swim, but you were never keen on swimming, always preferring to sunbathe and splash about knee-high. You loved 40-degree weather, such a polar opposite to Pollux, who always enjoyed sleeping in a snow bank in negative 30. I would also giggle in silence as people stress not to leave dogs in the heat or the cold. Trying to tell either of you otherwise was like arguing with rebellious teenagers about what to wear to school; you both loved such extreme weather. You were “the girl with the sun in her eyes,” your favourite days spent soaking in the sunshine. You were equally fond of rainy, lazy days tucked under the blankets.

There is no one memory of you, Lucy, to write about, as there are so many. It's difficult not to be overly nostalgic, as every single memory we made together will last me a lifetime.

After such a great first day introducing two females, I felt confident allowing you to sleep freely in separate areas of the house without using a kennel. Pollux, for one, had never been in a kennel as I raised her from a pup. On the other hand, Lucy, I was told by the agency that you were kennel trained, and I did try you in a kennel once in hopes of managing your outbursts in the vehicle. Seeing the fear and anxiety inflicted on you of having you kennelled and knowing how relatable to the shelter it must have been, I never dared try again. I am sorry that I never tried at all, not that you would ever hold any grudge.

That first night, I must have been asleep for a few hours before I awoke by a terrifying dog fight directly overhead in my bed! I pulled the blanket over myself to protect my face as I tossed two fierce animals to the floor and scolded you both. Unfortunately, I managed to get a toe across the forehead; if I had to guess, I would imagine it was from you, as you always had the longer clickity-clackety toenails. I have a scar as a reminder of that first night at home.

You never fought any other dog other than Pollux. I knew Pollux was the instigator, having an "Alfa aggressive” demeanour, ーan unfortunate response to her grief of losing her littermate Caster. I must admit I expected it and should have taken further precautions to avoid the scenario. Still, neither of you showed any signs of aggression towards the other throughout our day. I went against my intuition, having made the wrong decision. You two became step-sisters after the fight on that first night. Tolerating each other, but never really playing together; however, you were better together.

Your anxiety subsided as Pollux, and I continued to teach you daily. Adventuring deep into the woods, trying to show you the front steps were not your bathroom when we had 40 glorious acres! I couldn't blame you for wanting to do your business the instant we came outside, as I'm sure no one ever really walked you very far in your past life. I promised to walk you miles and miles, keeping my promise. Over time you became more accustomed to the mountains and learned to love our hiking adventures. You settled right into Kootenay Life.

Within two days of settling in, you were 100 percent broken of your prey drive towards my cat and every cat, for that matter. You were indeed an obedient dog. Perhaps the most obedient dog I have ever met. You always made me proud. Learning commands came naturally to you, almost instantaneously, and you were always as well-mannered as anyone could ever hope a dog would be.

Pollux loved having you follow her in the ranks, and you taught her as well. Helping to strengthen a stubborn husky's recall was no easy task; however, your recall was impeccable. “Somebody calls you, you answer;” come running, and Pollux wasn't about to be left behind and have you in the lead. You also made it possible to introduce other dogs into the pack. With four simple steps I gratefully learned from a dog trainer, I could avoid future dog fights within minutes because of the magical world of canine communication. We solved many problems together, and you taught manners to many other puppies and dogs over the years.

You became my road warrior and travelling companion, accompanying me when I worked away long distances. Pollux would stay home to guard the property with my friends who shared the land with us; she never settled into new environments as quickly as you did. She preferred mountaineering over “newspaper taxis” and hotel rooms with her high energy levels, but you never seemed to mind. You were always by my side. It never mattered if we were sitting “by a fountain” or waterfall; you travelled everywhere. It was second nature for you; after all, you were a city dog first. All you ever needed besides food and water was a blanket to snuggle. Of course, I'd bring your toys, treats and all of your bedding, spoiling you as much as possible. We were always well equipped for any adventure. You could accompany me anywhere. Everyone was happy to accommodate us on our many years of travel because “Everybody loves Lucy.”

Thinking further back, as a young adult, I travelled the planet solo, trying to find myself and discover different connections. At first, Caster and Pollux came into my life to ground me, teach me about responsibility and commitment, and stabilize me with a home full of unconditional puppy love. They challenged my patience and helped mould me into the alert dog handler I would becomeーand, then there was you. You came into my life, and not only did you show me unconditional love, but you also built my confidence. You were like my guardian angel—an ultimate protector, yet utmost gentle being. A gift, a true gem, a genuine diamond. You were my road warrior companionーmy ‘ride-or-die bitch’. You were with me, and I was no longer travelling alone.

On one of our trips through Banff National Park late at night, we saw the most majestic pack of snow-white coyotes, or what appeared to be coy-wolves, coyote-wolf hybrids, right downtown on Main Street. Before this sighting, I was unaware that coyotes and wolves were cross-breeding and had never heard of the name coy-wolf. Still, this particular coyote pack undoubtedly resembled wolf lineage, and I found myself on Google moments later trying to assess the possibility of a hybrid. It was the first time you had seen any canine in my vehicle, and you were completely silent. Breath-taken, we were both mesmerized; looking through the glass, you didn't make a peep. Another evening, seeing a pack of wolves during a pit stop along the highway, you were also left speechless; you always knew your place.

I do not want to downplay or discredit the many years of love and snuggles I shared with Pollux, as running my hands through her beautiful soft coat was genuinely therapeutic. She was an all-around happy-go-lucky gal. There was just something unexplainable about your snuggles, Lucy, something so special. Perhaps it was how you needed cuddles as much as I did—the need to feel loved like you had not been as a pup. You became loved by so many.

We moved to a farm with my new partner about a year into our companionship. Due to a traumatic experience of losing his best companion many years previous, he stated he was no longer a 'dog person,' but I was confident that you could win him over, and of course, you did. It wasn't long before the bond between you two was unbreakably strong. It was undeniable how deeply you needed each other, as this change wasn't only beneficial for him, it was your greatest transitional challenge into truly trusting men. It was only a few short days before he and I were jokingly bickering over who you belonged. Of course, you would always be my girl, and it took a few years before you officially became ours. I can not count how many "cat people" or "dog haters" hearts became won over by you, Lucy. You had a way of changing people and their options about dogs and "bully breeds" in general. Everyone seemed to want a “bully” after meeting you.

Like Pollux, you were great with our chickens, livestock and wildlife. We never had to worry about either of you killing deer or elk; both were so playful and bonded with nature and its inhabitants. Yet, you were the perfect team of great protectors from bears and cougars.

I'll never forget your unique friendship with our baby goat, little Annie. I couldn't help but watch you play for hours; frolicking in the front yard and down into the fields was my daily dose of entertainment. Little Annie decided she didn't care for her goat companion and wanted to be a house pet like you. She would break out of the pen and come to the house window, trying to sneak into our home, given any chance. When I returned home from the grocery store, I was greeted at the end of the driveway as you both would chase after my vehicle back to the house. I would look in my review mirror and see two sets of ears flapping away, you with your twinkle-toes and her kicking up her hooves as if to click her heels together.

And then there was "Ol' Black Betty," the hen we inherited when we moved. Poor Betty, being picked on by the "Reginald the Rooster," took shelter under the carport and spent her days in the front yard and gardens, playing amongst “cellophane flowers” with you and Annie, becoming part of your pack. The yellow sunflowers would “grow so incredibly high” on our little "funny farm."

In our fourth year together came the most significant change to our family. Our daughter arrived at seven pounds, four ounces. We were unsure how you would react to an infant crawling around on the floor, learning to walk and accidentally pulling your ears or tail; after all, an expected baby was why someone returned you to the shelter years previously. Having raised Pollux from a puppy, I had no concerns as I knew children and toddlers were always her favourite company. You were our family, Lucy, and although I was not sure how you would react, you were not going anywhere.

Of course, as always, you proved perfectly mannered. Just as loving and protective of our daughter, you were as you were to me. Perhaps a little pouty, as you no longer could receive 100% attention, but I always told you the focus would shift back to you when our daughter became school-aged. In a sense, you became not only like a sibling to our daughter but also a trusted nanny. We felt safe and whole with you always. Our family was complete.

*****

On September 26, 2020, we came home from a day trip doing errands to find you on the spare bed in the basement, your body cold and stiff. I stroked the space between your nose and forehead for those last few moments while you took your last breaths. It was like you had been waiting; for me to say our goodbyes. I lay there devastated beside you holding your paw in one hand while playing with your ears with my other, “and you’re gone.”

Poison! It ripped you away in the blink of an eye. How could it be possible? Where? When? How? These questions still ring around in my head. Was it from the machinery being used next door for the build? As we scoured the property, we found discarded barrels of antifreeze on the neighbours' side of the property line. You always stayed in the yard and knew the line well, but those disgusting barrels were far too close for comfort. Or was it my fault? Did you sneak into the compost? You had an upset stomach a few times before from compost, but after so many years of composting around dogs, could that have been the reason? I may not have an answer, but the guilt from not having that answer made me stop composting. We also had guests, could they have...? No, that would be unfair to accuse. That day, amongst chasing around a four-year-old and making the two-hour round trip to the nearest city, I let my guard down.

Throughout my life, I lost many friends and have grieved many loved ones, but not like you, Lucy. There was no one quite like you.

As a child, I learned the devastation of losing a parent, but losing you, was comparably as painful. I did not know how deep the ”Humans Best Friend” bond was until you were gone in that instant. No notice, no warning. I imagined years left to stroll beside me or to chase the bear off in the yard. To help introduce our next furry companion to our family before you were too old; to help train, show the ropes and keep in line.

Today marks two years. Time has flown since we said our goodbyes. Our walls encompass the precious laughter of a six-year-old, a flood of daily cherished moments, so many it's hard to keep track. No matter the blessings within the household, there is an indescribable void. A void that no other furry companion could ever fill. An emptiness, which I still find myself teary-eyed as I write this. No loss of any former friend has ever brought on so many tears. You were indeed my best friend.

You were the most excellent protector, not just for myself but also for my child, so naturally, mothering. I would always know my daughter was safe in the yard if you were outside with her while allowing me a moment to breathe or even five minutes to do the dishes while I watched through the windows. I loved to watch her on her “rocking horse,” as you, her and Pollux played “cow girls.” There is also so much waste without you, Lucy! It's disheartening not having you there, waiting for the leftovers that a picky 6-year-old leaves behind—every time I have to toss meat scraps in a freezer bag for garbage day.

Lucy, you gave us all so much in our time together, and we were not ready for you to leave our family. There is a distinct difference between the pre-grief of preparing oneself for loss due to old age and a sudden tragedy. Slowly watching a body wither towards failure gives you time for acceptance, a sort of peace I became forced to make as the years passed by with Pollux. But nothing could prepare for the shock of your passing.

My most predominant memories are your kisses, love and dedication to our family. I miss laying with my head next to yours, twiddling your soft ears between my fingers and thumb as you press your wet nose on my cheek. I miss soaking up your love and your click-itty-clack on the hardwood; how it used to irritate me first thing in the morning or when I would walk through the door with my hands full of groceries. How, I desperately miss the click-itty-clack-itty tapping as you excitedly danced around me. The house is somewhat eerie-quiet now with our daughter in school and your absence; with only the familiar sound of the fish filter trickling.

As it is the anniversary of such a dreadful day, not only will I write this memoir, but I will bask for hours in the memory of your snuggles. I will smile at the thought of your twinkle-toes and turn the volume up high on the stereo. I will dance in your honour to your song for the neighbourhood to hear.

Your love to dance will always be my favourite and most precious memory. The moments that I seem to miss sharing with you the most. How we would spiral around in circles, you would always take a graceful bow to begin; prancing around me in perfect synchronization. You would get so excited, wagging your tail, leaping back and forth. I loved how we would tap-dance together; me with my tap shoes I found at the thrift store, and you with those toenails that always seemed to need a trim. Click-itty-clack, clitty-clack. You loved dancing at festivals with all the people as much as you loved our intimate jives in our living room. Dancing was when you were most confident and free of pain or anxiety; it was as if we found each other to be dance partners. I am blessed to have experienced something so preciously innocent. I can still feel you as the words of the Beatles resonate with me; the purity of smiling and dancing alongside my best friend.

May you Rest Easy, my sweet twinkled-toed Lucy, "In the sky with diamonds," I will always sing to you. My companion, now one with the stars. You are remembered by so many because there is no doubt that to this day, "Everybody loves Lucy."