It’s been a difficult twenty-four hours since we bid farewell to our Lucy. It has been difficult, painful. We can’t imagine the happy, smiling little dog with the the shining black eyes isn’t going to open the back door, as she usually did, walk in and demand a treat.
But she’s gone forever, alive only in our memories. She left behind two beautiful brothers I love very much, quite different from her and from one another. Rusty and Amos are wonderful dogs, if a bit naughty at times. They are sweet and affectionate and they respond happily to touch or a kind word. If they are occasionally demanding, they are also wonderful companions, full of curiosity who love their Mom and Dad, and want to get in on whatever the action is.Rusty follows me everywhere, occasionally giving me a hip check in to the butt to remind of where I’m supposed to be going. Amos twirls for a treat and snuggles up close for a tummy scratch. They are so special, it is difficult to imagine our home without them.
And that is the tragedy, isn’t it? We want to believe our pets will live as long as we do. They will always be the crazy, healthy furred friends that roll on their backs in the grass in the summer sun, or chase squirrels along the fenceline, caught in the dazzling brightness of a fall afternoon. We don’t want to see the hint of gray around the muzzle, or the prolonged naps they require to get throught the day.
Yet we love them as they love us, without conditions. And when their hearts stop beating, ours break a little, and then a little more.