This will be a long one.
It's been nine weeks since we said goodbye to our precious boy Lucky. It's been tough getting used to living without such a unique character, huge in every way a being can be. There have been times of tremendous sadness, and there still are those times. I miss him more than I can say. But throughout, John and I have been able to talk about him, look together at some of the thousands and thousands of pictures we took, re-tell the funny and happy stories, and give thanks for having had the chance to live with such an amazing boy. To know that he had a long life. That we weren't cheated out of a single day, that he was always happy, and that his end was peaceful and beautiful.
11 years ago, written blogs were still very much the thing. Our Lucky Days started out as a way for me to keep his original family up-to-date on what he was doing and how he was keeping. But in noticing the number of 'hits' or views, I was continually surprised by how much silent traffic this got. Through Blogger, I'm able to see where in the various parts of the world his followers have come from. This has been really amazing for me. Lucky has a widespread fan base, and that has made me very happy.
The day was always going to come when Our Lucky Days would arrive at its natural end, and that day is here. So this is what I want to say, this is my goodbye.
After our beloved boy Truman left us, we were both devastated. He was our first dog, and the void he left behind felt impossible to fill. For months and months, every time I thought about getting another dog, I would cry. I had this irrational thought that Truman might be out there somewhere looking down on me, a hangover perhaps from my Catholic upbringing. When I thought about him knowing I had gone out and replaced him, I felt my heart breaking. I couldn't do it to him, and I knew there would never be any other dog I could love as much. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this thought and these feelings were overwhelmingly sad.
It took two years to decide we were ready for another dog.
The search was brief. We contacted Truman's breeder, a most wonderful person who is very dear to us, and we asked for her help in finding a dog to adopt. That was on a Saturday, and the following Thursday, she sent us an email about a Ridgeback in the borders who had a very loving home, but who, for circumstantial reasons, had to relocate. There were pictures, "Lucky is a big beautiful and happy boy, not quite a year old." We were invited to meet him two days later, a Saturday.
It was love at first sight, I think for all three of us. We connected with him straight away, so much so, that it was unnerving for all of us, including his dear first family. He was considerably bigger than Truman, and much more boisterous, but he was also just shockingly beautiful. A deep, dark red with huge brown eyes and fabulous long ears. The process took time, because they wanted to be sure he was going to the best possible home. The fact that we had to in effect prove ourselves to his family was a testament to how much they loved him, and the whole process only served to further convince us that he was our next boy. We knew right from the beginning that this was a rare opportunity to adopt a young lad who had never known anything in his life but love, freedom, and happiness. He came home at the end of June, turned one on the 20th of July 2013, and our life together began.
Throughout his life, I was aware that I was in an era, a section of my life that I knew I would look back on as 'the Lucky years.' I knew this because I considered the whole of Truman's life to be 'the Truman years', I had him from ages 38 to 49. That's a significant chunk of my life, and those years were a progression. I was 51 when Lucky came home, and nearly 62 when he left. Again, a long timeline, a progression. My dogs met me in one distinct portion of my life, and they dropped me off in another. And looking back, something truly wonderful has occurred to me.
Most people grow and change throughout their lives, circumstantially, chronologically, emotionally and in other ways. Physically we age. We change, find new jobs, houses and locations, sometimes we change friends and relationships, we lose people and we meet new people. Living changes our perspective, so we grow. Timelines sharpen. Sometimes we mellow, we slow down in a good way. Hopefully we become more patient and understanding. And when I look back at the Truman years as distinct from the Lucky years, I can see my changes.
But here's the thing. Dogs don't change. Unless something unfortunate happens to them, dogs don't fundamentally change who they are. Whether it's a puppy, or an adoption or rescue, dogs take time to show themselves to us. But once they have, they stay exactly who they are for the whole of their lives. So when I look back on those two distinct eras, I see the fluctuation of myself for better or worse, mostly better I hope. I also see two very individual, unchanging, and constant horizontal lines. Two unwavering and unbreakable threads of love and happiness. And they are of course Truman and Lucky. My dogs, who took their time revealing themselves to me, and then stayed true to themselves and to me right to the end. Two of the biggest gifts I have ever been given.
But there's one thing that only your second dog teaches you, one very important lesson just from them. You don't know it when you lose your first dog, and you already know it by the time you're looking for your third, as we are now. It's this: the dog love part of you, that sense of deep connection and contentment that I had with Truman and couldn't imagine having with any other dog, the part of me that I thought was gone was not. That love, that connection, and that part of myself, the dog man, was only dormant. And I couldn't know until the first time I saw Lucky and I felt every bit of that come flooding back, almost all at once. I remember thinking to myself "I can't believe it, there it is, all of this is back." That's when I knew that as long as I was physically capable of doing so, I would always live with a dog.
Lucky gave me so much, but this was one of the best gifts. And now I know that every time I have to say goodbye to a beloved dog, the part of me which is dog love, that wonderful adventure, contentment, and connection is still there. It's still inside me, and all I need is the next good boy or girl, and they will be the beginning of my next era, my next horizontal timeline of unchanging love and companionship to be beside me while I go through my continuing changes. That part of me which will always be a dog man. Every time I feel that, it is specifically him who I will remember and thank for that unique gift. My irreplaceable, precious, and one and only second dog, my Lucky.
The Bean, The Bear, Himmy, Handsome, Silly, Mister, Boo-boo, Beansieboos, My Angel, El Innocente, Love Bug, Friendly, Mr Grumbles. All of the names we used for him, all of which he recognised as being him. Our Lucky Boy.
