I think of Lucy occasionally

 

Which I often do!

It is Sunday, a day of piece and quiet, though Zelensky is pleading for more war weaponry but there is a stillness in the air and I have a sick headache unfortunately.  So a memory of Lucy.

We both suffered from untidy hair.  Lucy just knew when she landed in our house, that she had an easy billet. Eight years old and taken to The Dog's Trust for rehoming because she could not settle in the rented home of her owners and was a useless retrieving dog.  They had come back from Portugal with three dogs, two male and Lucy and because they were all put in a shed, she had barked and barked at this imprisonment.  Twice we went to the kennels near Thirsk and the second time she came home with us.  

To get to Thirsk we had to go down Sutton Bank, a steep road through a rather beautiful area, often shut when bad weather was around.  She sat in the back of the car and when we stopped to share a sandwich, she managed to scrounge most of it.  Yes she got to be rather plump.

I remember we had to leave her for the day with a friend and on coming back I asked had she behaved herself.  Well yes said the friend but she picked up her bowl of water and threw it across the kitchen, we had always gave her a heavily weighted bowl of water so that she wouldn't pick it up.

There was a determined but playful air to her, being 'naughty' amused Lucy greatly.  She also had some neurological problem, which would manifest itself occasionally at night times and she would pace restlessly around the house deliberately knocking the fireplace's bits and pieces over.

A walk was practically a no-no and there's me wanting the companionship of a dog to go walking, she agreed to walk down the lane to a farm gate, then with a jump and a swizzle she would turn round and pull me back home.  Once as we came back out of the fields and I was shutting the gate, she slipped the lead and went trotting off back home refusing to stop and I watched with heart in mouth as she went on the road over the bridge into the face of oncoming traffic. Luckily, She made it home safely with cars stopping. 

Paul adored her, as long as I kept her clean for the car, no beck swimming.  For some reason she always managed to start the car alarm going, so it meant someone had to stay in the car with her when we were grocery shopping.

When at the age of thirteen years old she had a stroke, and I had to make the decision of her being put down.  Though my son's best friend said putting down a dog was murder.  Such a forthright statement needs thinking over but it is true, though we do it for  a good reason.  I was all alone at the time, when I took her to the vet but as usual held her paw, as I had done with all my animals as she went under.  Breaking your heart over animals  somehow seems silly but the happiness they give you through their short lives compensates you.

But she had a good five years with us.  Our wandering in Yorkshire took us to churches and the moors, she would grab the lead in her mouth, fully independent and just follow us.