I’ve been getting a little sad about Lucky lately. She’ll turn 11 years old on February 11 (her golden birthday!), and I’ve had her for almost 10-1/2 of those 11 years. She is my pal; we have a profound mystical understanding. My little Lucky girl. I love her so, so much.
She’s been really stiff. I’m hoping it’s the cold weather, but I do recognize that she’s not a young pup anymore. She doesn’t wanna get up on furniture anymore — and when she does, she gets frantic and has to strategize about how to get back down for at least 5 minutes before she’ll jump. She cries if you touch her anywhere behind her mid-back. She will no longer allow me to pick her up.
If you know Lucks in real life, then you know she’s a really shy and fearful dog. She’s scared of pretty much everything in this crazy, mixed-up world — except me. So my one wish in this world is that, when it is “her time,” she can die in her sleep, in this house. I do not want to ever have to make a decision to put her down, because I cannot stand the thought of her last hours/minutes being filled with terror and dread. Even if I paid to have someone come to our house to put her down (which I would do, if it came to that), she’ll still be terrified. (Finny was different, as you know: he was happy as a lark walking into the vet’s office for his “final appointment.” It was a good, good day for him–until it wasn’t, at which point he had no idea what was going on, anyway.)
Anyway, I just get sad thinking about my lucky-lady. She’s been my snuggle-head for so long, and she’s so patient about everything. She’s perfectly well-behaved, she causes no problems whatsoever, and we’re just BFFs. Maybe it sounds pathetic to you, but it’s true. We’re super-pals.
Then I look at this picture, and I think this world will just absolutely suck when I don’t have either of these two.