"All praise to you, O Lord, for all these our brother and sister creatures." - Canticle of the Creatures, Francis of Assisi
We are burying sweet Lucy's ashes today. It seems most fitting to do so today, on the feast day of my patron saint, that great lover of animals, St. Francis of Assisi.
- Robert Louis Stevenson
Dear Reader, my Heart is broken.
The past Friday, I had to say good-bye to one of the dearest friends I have ever had. Lucy, my beloved border collie, has been my constant companion for the past 14 years. And now, she is gone.
I did the math(s) yesterday, and realized that apart from my family, many of whom with which I am not very close, Lucy has held the place as the most consistent, long-term, loving presence in my life.
The fact is a bit staggering, but far from sad or pathetic. Clearly, I choose wisely and well when I invited her into my life, the same cannot be said of a few of the choices I’ve made in the past of the human variety.
Writer George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) wrote of the great loyalty and unconditional love she felt from her canine companions. Another writer extolled their virtues by declaring: “I pray to God that one day I may truly become the person my dog believes I am.”
Perhaps one day I’ll write a book called “Lessons from Lucy”. It would be a volume full of inspiring tales of grace and gentleness; of taking risks and having adventures (have passport, will travel!); a diet section extolling the virtues of fresh veg (carrots, celery, and broccoli - top favourites), popcorn and chicken, and a firm warning against the over-consumption of miso soup; an activities section recommending sea breezes, three walks a day and rides in the car with the windows down.
There would be advice on etiquette and social interactions, with candid tidbit, such as: “Respect yourself girls! Bottom sniffing on the first date is utterly out of the question”; and, “Try a little tolerance. Cats are okay, once you get to know them. One of my best friends is a feline...”
And of course, all important relationship advice - summing up the measure of a man in one sniff – a skill every modern girl should have! Lucy was a great social barometer and judge of character.
I remember once in New York, a chap who lived in our building, who used to happen upon us during our walks in Washington Square Park. Nice looking, friendly, all smiles. However, at his approach, Lucy would become very quiet and still, ears down, tail tucked, shy. Not herself at all. He often asked me out for coffee – and I always refused.
Lucy fell in love with the DEB as swiftly as I did, and accepted him as pack leader without hesitation.
“There are seasons in every life, and this chapter of your life, Lucy’s life, and your lives together, has ended,” my friend, a serene Methodist minister, spoke softly down the phone, calling from America.
She and her family had loved and cared for Lucy, and had allowed Lucy to recuperate from her first leg surgery in the comfort and fresh air of their big, Southern farm. The task of Lucy’s rehabilitation would have been a virtual impossibility in the rutted landscape of New York City.
I wept as she recalled the time Lucy had spent with them: “Lucy was a such blessing, and in so many ways, a touch of the divine in our lives.” During that time, an elderly relative of hers had suffered a stroke, and was in need of physiotherapy. The relative had refused the treatment, and sunk into a depression.
Then, in walked Lucy.
Her daily visits brightened and cheered his spirits. They bonded in their recovery, and Lucy’s presence encouraged him to become more active, and he regained the use of his hands so that he could pet and stroke her.
This dear old man is no longer with us, and I’m sure, he was there, waiting for Lucy, and welcomed her on the other side.
Death, they say, is worse for those of us left behind, and that is true because the act of letting go is so very hard for us to do. And so, we are left feeling torn asunder, our home, our hearts and lives feeling very empty, indeed.
Lucy had two extraordinary years living here in England. And, I think she enjoyed every minute of it. I'm just thankful that we had this time together.
My dear friend, Katie Doyle, once joked: “If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as a dog. Not just any dog, I want to come back as Lucy.” To be sure, my beloved pooch has had a remarkable life for a canine – or otherwise.
From her humble beginnings as an abandoned pup in small-town America (Lucy’s mother was a prize-winning collie, guilty of an indiscretion with a neighbouring chow), Lucy has been a constant companion in my adventures. She’s had a few adventures of her own: from being an extra in a production of Strindberg’s Miss Julie; to cheering the elderly as Santa’s reindeer – complete with costume antlers. The old girl definitely has talent and heart.
When we moved to NYC in 2003, Lucy became toast of the town. (Our corner of it, at least.) Everyone loved Lucy. Residents in my apartment building all knew Lucy by name, I was just an extra in her show. On walks in Washington Square, we were routinely stopped by children desperate to pet her. Once, when my Darling English Boy came to Manhattan for a visit, we went for a walk along the Hudson River. That day, Lucy became an accidental model, when a photographer became captivated by her. She has a passport – one that’s arguably better used than the average American’s. She’s played in the Irish Sea, and scaled the heights of Pembroke Castle. Now living in Warwickshire, life has led Lucy to a quieter place, with a more gentle pace.
There are approximately 10.5 million dogs in UK households. To say that Britain is a nation of dog lovers is an understatement. Spike Milligan surmised, “the English Dog Cult now vies with Christianity in top ten religions.” I’m thankful to have been living here when Lucy was faced with a serious ailment recently (NB. This past Thursday). I believe that she received more caring and compassionate care on this side of the Atlantic. Although non-life threatening, her illness was quite severe, and required an enucleation of her right eye.
The process left me anguished and distraught. Lucy, however, has soldiered on. In her characteristic plucky way, she is undaunted and irrepressible. This experience illustrated for me how much more brave and resilient than humans dogs are.
We’re drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren’t certain we knew better. They fight for honor at the first challenge, make love with no moral restraint, and they don’t for all their marvelous instincts appear to know about death. Being such wonderfully uncomplicated beings, they need us to do their worrying.
– George Bird Evans
Worrying is a small price to pay for the companionship and unconditional love that dogs give. Warwickshire writer George Eliot said it best: “We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.” I’ll gladly do the worrying and more for Lucy, she’s a diamond. And, diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
The Dogs Trust is the UK's largest dog welfare charity, helping thousands of stray and abandoned dogs find a happy home.
Dogs Trust, Honiley, Kenilworth, CV8 1NP tel. 01926-484398 www.dogstrust.org.uk
"O Lord that lends me life,
lend me a heart replete with thankfulness." – Henry VI
Thanksgiving took me almost completely by surprise this year. Even though I had stockpiled my tins Libby Pumpkin and Carnation condensed milk quite dutifully, I was caught unaware.
A rare and funny thing considering that Thanksgiving is an all-time favourite holiday of mine. The food, the colours, less hype than Christmas…
This year something changed. A change that was not due to my new location. An internal change.
I am not proud to say it, but I think it is hard to be thankful when life doesn’t seem to be going your way. And I realize it is always so much easier to see things from a “half empty” perspective.
Things just feel so sad right now, with Lucy being injured; and me still slowly, slowly recovering from my bout with flu. (Side note: I was fine before I had the Flu jab; and fell ill precisely seven days after having the job.)
Lucy’s surgery was a success, and she seems to be getting back to her old self. It’s awful to see her in pain, and it is going to be a long road to recovery for her. They say that pets are a good preparation for having children, as the level of responsibility can be just as high. Well, I can see how that works.
Lucy is going to need full-on care for the next 6 weeks. She will be unable to walk unassisted for that time period. That means for us, our holiday plans will need to abridged or augmented. Still, it’s a commitment we are happy and willing to make.
Along with this very traumatic situation has been my own nearly month-long battle with the flu. I’m not one for just lying around at the best of times, and prolonged idleness makes me quite maudlin.
I find myself thinking far to deeply about things, and brooding about them: “Why are struggling so to find an agent for the cookbook?”, “Why am I even bothering trying to be a writer?”, “Maybe I should just give up and get a proper job?”
In my former life, I was an avid workaholic. Taking leave of that rat race was a joy, and I finally feel like I can breathe. But, it is so difficult when we live in a world that places value on what we do, as opposed to who we are.
I have applied for several teaching positions over the past several months, and have been rejected by every single one. Add those letters to the ones I have recently received from agents and publishers and the pile becomes quite considerable, indeed!
I was even turned down for a job in a local library for having “too much experience.” Is that possible?
Repeated rejection, flu symptoms, a poorly pooch, and rainy November days can really conspire against a girl.
The DEB tells me all the time that he is proud of me. I daren’t say “Proud of what?” He says he’s proud of me for “having a go,” daring to dream a dream, and pursue it with my whole heart.
Some days, I admire me, too. On others, I wonder why I bother getting out of bed. I feel like I am just drifting along, a boat without paddles or a sail.
Even my latest attempts at “doing good” have failed. I organized a charity sale here in Barford, and it was a huge, lamentable flop. If we had had a sale in downtown Manhattan like the one here in Barford, there would have a feeding frenzy. There would not have been a stitch of clothing left after the first half hour.
We had two pairs of Vera Wang shoes, brand new, never worn, each selling for less than $300.00. As a gal who likes a bargain, I thought the idea was heavenly. And apparently, according to The Sunday Times, the “Weekend Bargainista” hitting the second-hand sales is all the rage. In London. It takes a while for trendy to reach the countryside, apparently. Lesson learned.
And that is what this time feels like most of all. A time for lessons. Figuring out who I am, and what I want with and from this life. Pupils are rarely thankful for lessons.
Still, a week late, here I am giving thanks. I am mindful that in the midst of this inertia and seeming inactivity, I have much for which I am thankful. Not least the love that surrounds me on every side.
Post script
Our menu for Thanksgiving dinner last week: Southern fried chicken, succotash, sweet potatoes, stuffing and gravy. Pumpkin pie and ice cream.
Home after a restful holiday in Wales.
Flu has lingered over two weeks, finally starting to subside. Still feel lousy. Lousy feeling compounded by the fact that Lucy, The Princess Puppy is at the vets today. She was fine while we were away, and seemed to enjoy herself.
Our first day back, and she seems to have injured her right back leg in some way. She's not putting any weight on it. So, today she was in for x-rays. Going to collect her in a few minutes with the DEB and have a word with the vet.
She torn her ACL ligament on her left leg two years ago, so I am beside myself with panic as she may have done the same to her "good" leg now.
I feel incredibly small and afraid. I don't want to be a grown up. I want to go back in time, and be 8 years old and have my mom/mum to step in make this all better. :(
Well, as Britain is a nation of dog lovers, I am sure Lucy will have the very best of care here.
When I think about it, Lucy has had a rather amazing life. Unlike quite a few humans I know, Lucy actually has a passport, and has used it well.
She has danced in the Irish Sea, and sniffed the fresh, brisk air in the land of her Welsh ancestors.
