Lucy has been failing for the past month or so — increasing difficulty in jumping onto the bed; several trips to the vet for recurrent diarrhea; loss of appetite to the point where she wasn’t interested in the canned dog food into which we mixed her four medications, two for pain, one for incontinence, and one for the aforementioned diarrhea; and general listlessness. Sadly, it was time.
The day she came to us in 2003.
She was light brown with a white underside on her tail. When she ran, she looked like a deer. Hence, the hand-knit orange sweater.
“Running is fun, especially after escaping through an open car window on a mountaintop in Wyoming!”
She was always photogenic.
Well, almost always…
She loved the snow.
She was patient with our antics.
She had the fastest tongue east of the Mississippi. No ice cream dish ever needed to go into the dishwasher when she was through with it.
She considered herself to be a great hunter, notwithstanding that time when the beaver drew blood from her ear or the encounter with the skunk. Or the time she chased the bunny into the brush pile and got herself trapped for 28 hours. Or when she chased the Canada geese off the lake and almost got herself and Smokey killed.
Given a halfway decent throw, she never missed a treat in the air.
Speaking of treats, she was more than willing to help Smokey carve this 17-pound rib eye.
She was always a perfect lady. This was a frequent pose.
“Car ride? I’m so there!”
Younger Son captioned this one, “I know there’s room for both of us!”
Smokey’s computer wallpaper for years.
She was a friend of all our other animals.
R.I.P, Lucy. We will miss you.
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