The evening we brought our puppy home, I remember thinking that she could be with us until the kids were teenagers. Watching Ali & Mark, not even school aged, as they argued over what we'd call her, imagining them grown was impossible. Since we brought her home on Friday the 13th, we decided to call her Lucky. And that we truly were. This tiny ball of fur grew into a dog that found the greatest joy in our company and we in turn felt safe and secure with her in our lives. She drove us crazy when she'd bark furiously when the kids dove into the pool. She embarrassed us when she'd try to eat the mailman or pizza delivery guy. She'd surprise us with her patience when the cats would stroke her fur or the kittens jump on her back. Lucky would always be ready for a late night Wawa run or a walk around the neighborhood with Melissa. She'd hang on the porch with Mark and Brian and the rest of the boys. She'd charm Ali's friends by stretching into their laps for a tummy rub. And Sarah decided long ago that she was "just the nicest dog in the world". Lucky was a good dog. A good dog because most of her life she lived unnoticed. Under the table while we ate. Sleeping next to our bed while we chatted long into the night. Laying next to the couch on movie night. Smiling in the breeze while we worked in the garden. This past year Lucky started to slow down. She wasn't as quick to greet me at the end of the day. She'd sleep longer and harder and stare at the stairs for a minute before climbing them. I realized that unimaginable time was close. A few months ago my carpenter Dad decided that Lucky should have a special box made for her "just in case". I was appalled to think that he was making her a coffin and instead I made jokes about his efforts as though they were just the antics of a foolish old man. With age comes wisdom. Lucky passed away today.
