Here's to the Lucy Dog!

Lucy in a flower pot on our deck (captured by Amy Nern)

We lost this old girl, Lucy, last June 24. She was 16.

I was 49 when we got her, and 64 when she went peacefully to sleep. We found her at a shelter when she was 6 months old. When they brought her outside to visit with the kids, she jumped up on their legs and hugged them.

Deal!

Lucy was not a lap dog, except for the first few years of her life when she would sit in my lap and stare at my wife Amy and daughter Mary, as if to say, "He's mine, leave him alone." She would jump at anyone who tried to touch me. No biting, just warnings. How could I not love that dog!

She gradually became a dog that liked about thirty seconds of attention and then wanted to be left alone. We have no idea why. She wanted us to be near her but not in her face, except for those thirty seconds she might allow us. When time was up, she would take hold of your hand with her mouth but not apply pressure.

Did we mess with her in that regard? Yes, we did. Her quirks provided us with much entertainment. She never bit anyone and almost seemed to enjoy the game.

She was independent, sort of cat like. Once a month or so, she might sit beside someone in a chair.

Lucy was a hiker and would go on long walks with Amy and me. She enjoyed being outside with us when we worked in the yard or built a fire.

Once the kids went away to college, Lucy followed Amy and me around the house. She knew that we would watch about an hour of TV each night before we went to bed. If we were not in the living room at the expected time, she would come looking for us, particularly Amy, as if to say, "C'mon, it's time to settle down."

We took Lucy as she was, and she accepted us as we were. As she slowed down over the last two years of her life from kidney failure, I would breathe in the glory of taking her for walks around the neighborhood or for hikes. I wanted to hang on to her while life was still good for her.

She jumped for her food every day of her life, except for the last week or so, when we knew her time was about up. One day she stopped eating, so we took her for her last ride. I took great comfort that three of us could be with her at the end.

I still miss Lucy, even though my son's rescue dog, Arthur, has been roaming the house for two months providing us with great joy.

Lucy's ashes are in the living room on our book shelf. Someday we will scatter them at Dillon State Park on her favorite trail. We'll save some for our yard, which she patrolled with great joy. But we will keep some of those ashes in the neat little wooden container with her name engraved upon it.

Lucy Nern.