A Precious Soul Is Gone

On October 8, 2008 Lucky died. When I arrived home from work, my daughter was in tears and gave me the news. I was stunned and put my hand on the car to steady myself. Our little dog was gone. My wife called him a precious soul. I called him my little buddy.

He had been fine all morning playing with the brick masons and our daughter who was visiting us from San Diego. At 11:30 AM, he suddenly began coughing and choking. My wife instantly knew what the problem was. Two weeks earlier she had heard a heart murmur, and had taken him to the veterinarian the next morning. The x-rays indicated that the left ventricle was weakening, probably from the valve not closing properly.

The next week, she took him to a veterinarian hospital several miles from our home where the internist did an ultrasound study which confirmed the diagnosis. Because Lucky was a rescue dog, we did not know exactly how old he was, but both doctors estimated his age at about thirteen years. All we could do was put him on an ACE inhibitor to lower his blood pressure and hope for the best; now, the worst had occurred because the valve’s tendons had failed, and his heart was no longer able to pump oxygenated blood to the brain and rest of the body.

When my wife heard Lucky coughing, she and our daughter rushed him to the veterinarian who put him in canine intensive care. The doctor and the technician were wonderful, and they did all they could; but, while my wife was holding him, little Lucky quietly went to sleep, slipped into a coma, and slipped away.

I had met Lucky three years earlier. I had come home from work, and was stepping out of the car when my smiling wife, holding a little Pomeranian, met me at the back door. “Whose dog is that?” I asked. “Ours!” she replied. “Well, it’s good to have a dog” I said. “Boy or girl?” “Boy” she said. “What’s his name?” “Lucky.” “Good name for a dog” I said. My wife said, “A rattlesnake struck him when he was a puppy, but he miraculously survived, so the breeder named him, Lucky.”

I noticed that his left eye bulged out and appeared to have a cataract. “What’s the matter with that eye?” I asked. “He’s blind in that eye” “So, he only sees with one eye?” “No,” she said, “he’s blind in the other eye, too.” “OK.” Then I noticed his lower jaw was lopsided. “Is there a problem with his jaw?” “Oh yes, it was broken years ago. There’s one tooth left but it looks abscessed.” “So, where did you find him?” I asked. “At a garage sale,” she replied. And I thought, “Why am I not surprised?”

It seems my wife had stopped by a garage sale that morning, saw little Lucky nearby, and learned that his former owner had been an older lady who was an invalid, and had died about three months earlier. Since her death, Lucky had been sitting by her front door, day and night. Before she died, she had her daughter promise she would find a good home for Lucky, and not send him to the pound. By now the daughter was frantic worrying about how to keep her promise. When my wife appeared, it was promise kept, problem solved, and love at first sight (so to speak).

Lucky weighed in at a little less than six pounds, but, as I soon discovered, was quite a dog, nonetheless. He inspired many people because life was an adventure for him, and the world was a wonderful place to explore. How did he get around? Cautiously at first. He began by moving around the yard only a few inches at a time and in a low crawl, like a soldier. Soon, he was trotting with assurance and self confidence. He relied on his acute hearing, his keen sense of smell, and a steel trap memory. He would head in a straight line, and if he found an obstacle in his path he would work around it, and continue on his way. He listened, smelled the air, marked boundaries, would backtrack when he reached a dead end, and then continue on his way.

Lucky learned about stairs and how to put his paw out and feel for them when he got close. He learned about jumping on and off his favorite furniture, and where his food and water were. My wife’s garden was one of his favorite places. He would sniff around the flowers, and tomatoes and zucchini, and lie in the shade on a hot afternoon. He loved to ride in the car and quickly learned how to jump into it. He and my wife went everywhere together. The two were inseparable. “Did you bring Lucky?” people were forever saying to her. Everybody was happy to see Lucky and he was happy to “see” them. He had the ability to bring a smile to the dourest of countenances.

In the first few months we did have to take care of some health issues. My wife had the abscessed tooth removed, and two fistulas (holes in the roof of his mouth) closed because he would choke when drinking. Finally, we made some changes in Lucky’s diet, and he began to put on a little weight. And about his eyes. The ophthalmologist said the blindness was genetic, characteristic of the breed, and that Lucky probably had lost his sight before he was two years old. Friends were a little surprised that we put so much effort into such an old dog, but we knew these measures would make his life better and we had promised to take good care of him, and promises are for keeping. And besides, Lucky was our friend, and paid us back twenty-fold. We never doubted we were the lucky ones to have a dog that brought joy and gave inspiration to so many.

Now that little Lucky is gone from this world, we believe he went to heaven. Some may find the idea silly or maudlin, perhaps even blasphemous, but I find it comforting. After all, what’s the point of going to heaven if your friends are not there? And why would God not welcome home a precious soul like Lucky? Doesn’t the Psalmist say

“For He shall give his angels charge over thee
They shall bear thee up in their hands?”

You are a precious soul, Lucky, and more importantly, you were a great dog. You went about your business with love and joy in your heart, you did your best, and you pulled your weight. The world would be a far better place if people were more like you. We will always love you, Lucky, and never forget you. Now, rest in peace, little buddy, rest in peace.