A month ago I wrote about our dog, Lucy, and how during a recent thunderstorm she reminded me why it’s really important to understand what’s making us afraid. Without that knowledge, managing our fears is impossible.
I drafted that post on May 1, and I put it on my blog and LinkedIn on May 8.
Lucy died on May 12.
Her decline was rapid–when I posted on May 8, I had no idea she’d be gone four days later–which means she didn’t suffer long. But it took her dads by surprise and we are still grieving. What started as the vet thinking we needed to manage her chronic pain differently soon became the vet telling us that it wasn’t premature to consider euthanasia.
We blinked and she was gone.
As I navigate and process the loss, I’m realizing she taught me a lot–more than just about fear during a thunderstorm (although that one remains top of mind for me).
So here are a few more kernels of Lucy wisdom:
Be intentional with and mindful of time. We don’t have a fenced-in yard, so we’d walk Lucy four times each day. She had three dads who all worked from home, so we’d take turns with the walks (which we called “Ws,” since the casual utterance of the word “walk” could elicit some misplaced enthusiasm). It was impossible to lose ourselves in work for too long, because Lucy needed her Ws. She made us pull our heads up and away from our laptops and note the passing of the day–and helped us get outside to move and breathe and think, and remember the world beyond work.
Slow down and enjoy the walk. Speaking of Ws, in the days after her death I kept thinking of the times I had to pull her away from sniffing every darn bush or fence post along the streets in Provincetown (lots of dogs live here, so she had plenty of smells to take in). Shells and seaweed on the beach were also big sniff zones for her. As maddening as a slow, sniff-intensive walk could be–Provincetown’s winters can be uniquely damp and cold, and sometimes we had Zooms to get back to–walking Lucy meant you were going to slow down and be present. I’m sure I pulled her along more than I should have. But early on I made a commitment to her that I wouldn’t mindlessly use my phone while walking her–I’d only use it if I was taking a photo or video of her, usually when either or both of her other dads were out of town (I would send it to them as a hello from Lucy). And as much as that was a commitment to her, it was really a commitment to me because it freed me from my technology for a few precious moments and let me see the beautiful landscape and/or quirky characters that define Provincetown.
Show your gratitude when your loved ones come home. Lucy’s ritual whenever we came home was to greet us by the kitchen door and run circles around us, and then start making her way between and through our legs. There were fake-outs, when she’d start to go through your legs but then she’d back up at the last minute and give a sly look in the process. Once our legs were sufficiently threaded, she’d get her favorite toy of the moment and bring it to us–perhaps as a tangible symbol of her thanks that we came back to her. Mostly, we just know she was glad to see us, and she wasn’t shy about expressing that. How often do we hedge our feelings, for fear of being vulnerable or simply because we’re too busy, even with our closest friends and family? Lucy was fearless in this regard, and she always led with love.
Always try for the treat because treats are delicious. Lucy could remember every store in Provincetown where an employee gave her a treat: Wired Puppy, CVS, Botanica, Lands End Marine Supply, Kohi, the Post Office, the Provincetown General Store, Farland Provisions, Seamen’s Bank, Joe’s Coffee. Of course, these places weren’t always open when we walked by, but she’d always pull us toward their doors, in the hopes that another treat would be waiting for her on the other side. She’d pout if a business was closed or–God help us–if they were open but out of treats. I always respected her tenacity and her memory, and some days she’d end up with more treats in her belly than her vet would approve. But, as I said, treats are delicious. And, to be honest, I’m kind of the same way when I’m walking through town, but I’m usually pulling toward one of the ice cream or candy shops.
These are a few of the lessons I’m taking with me after my three years with Lucy. I had hoped for more time, of course, but these three were pretty magical and I’m glad that I had them.
And perhaps that’s her biggest lesson for us–take it all in and be grateful for it, because none of this is ours forever.
Life is a very short W, so appreciate each step along the way.
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