Lucky’s Story: One Dog’s Gift of Unconditional Love and Unrelenting Support

A goodbye letter to a friend, confidant, and warrior

How do you start a good-bye letter to someone who gave you everything you could possibly want in life? You loved me when it seemed like no one else could, cuddled me on my darkest days, and greeted me after every long workday with enthusiasm and love.

I got you during an uncertain time in my life, I didn’t even want a border collie, I wanted a german shepherd or a rescue. Someone else called the shots at this point and for once, he made the right call. We named you “Lucky” because he felt lucky to be alive after going to war in Afghanistan.

You were the most beautiful puppy. You looked like a little teddy bear. You had big beautiful brown eyes and a tail that didn’t stop. In fact, I lost more glassware to that tail in your first year than I ever have. It didn’t matter, you could do no wrong. You were my little buddy.

As things in our home got more chaotic, you never let it get you down. You always stuck by my side, with your unstoppable tail. When things got to be too much, which was frequently, we would go on our drives. You sat on the passenger seat of our old Ford and we listened to “Ahead by a Century” by the Tragically Hip on repeat. That was your song. You always smiled when it was on.

Eventually, we had to leave. When I left, the first thing I took with me was you. I left behind Christmas ornaments, a gaming system, and countless other expensive things. Those things didn’t matter because I just wanted you.

We lived with my mother and father and then our friend Coralee. You were loved everywhere you went, even if you weren’t expected to be there. You laid in bed with me and listened, healing me slowly from the heartbreak I felt. I knew everything would be ok as long as I had you.

We moved into a one-bedroom apartment after a few months, it was cozy. You were not an apartment dog, you were a farm dog, but you adjusted and made the best of it. I know you did it for me.

We lived alone, just the two of us for three years. Every day I would play ball with you. You never tired of playing fetch and could play for hours. Once we were done, we ate our supper, climbed into bed together, watched a movie, and fell asleep. Every morning I woke up to you, with your head on the pillow, laying next to me. You were more like a person than most people are.

Years later, I met a wonderful man. You were never jealous when the hierarchy changed. You just thought “Yay! another person to love!”. His name was Ryan. Ryan and you became so close, I was almost a little jealous. He helped you learn to trust men again, and you showed him what it was to love a border collie. You impressed him with your intelligence daily. When we were apart, I think he missed you more than he did me!

You were such an agreeable little creature. When we left our apartment after years, you were ready to go to our new house, tail wagging. You knew it was a new beginning of the three of us living together, as a family. Through Ryan, you also gained a new sister, his daughter Charlotte. Charlotte loved you right away, everyone did.

As time went on, Ryan and I decided to add to our family. When I was pregnant, you followed me around constantly. When Ryan went away with the military to work, you guarded our house like the german shepherd I thought I wanted. You were ready for anyone and anything.

When we brought home your little sister Willow Cordelia, you were not jealous. You were curious. Who was this tiny creature? Why was she so small? Why did she smell so good? You slept in front of her bassinet on the nights that we slept in the living room. On guard, forever protective, a natural watchdog.

As you quickly adjusted to Willow, you also had Ryan and I home all day on parental leaves. We were a solid family. We had a quiet, chaos free household. One like we had dreamed of when we would go on our drives to escape the nightmare we lived in when you were young. There was no need for me to protect you from anyone anymore, and no need for you to be afraid. We were finally home. You had a mom, dad, and two sisters.

Time went on, Willow and Charlotte grew, and we played ball daily. You comforted me as I fought my battle with postpartum mental health issues. You were always there. I could cry into your fur or bring you into bed for a cuddle anytime. You gave me endless love. Man, I was the luckiest person alive to have you.

You and Ryan had a very special bond. He actually became your master, you listened to his commands dutifully. You loved it when he would get you to hop up on the couch and he would cradle you like a big baby. You were his other child and I know you knew how much he loved you.

Recently, you began to breathe in an abnormal way. Especially during our cuddle sessions. I just thought you were excited and getting old. You were getting older, almost ten by now. Once you started to cough, we tried to give you natural remedies under our vet’s advice, but it got worse.

We took you to the vet two weeks ago. You had a heartbeat of 180 beats per minute (a high heartbeat for a medium dog is 140). After further testing, it was determined that you had an enlarged heart, spots in your lungs and fluid in your stomach. We remained hopeful and took you home to nurse you back to our old Lucky.

We would never see the old Lucky again. You became distant. You didn’t want to cuddle anymore. You didn’t even want to be touched anymore. We did everything to get you to eat but you wouldn’t. We got your medication into you but we could feel the mass of fluid growing in your stomach.

Two weeks later, which was yesterday, we took you back to the vet. He told us he suspected cancer and anemia with internal bleeding. We took you home to give it one last shot, maybe things would improve?

This morning, you had eaten some ham I left in your dish, I was so excited. I thought maybe you were getting better. Then you threw it up, it wasn't digested. Despite being on a strong diuretic you had barely any water leaving your body. You were weak and could barely walk.

We knew it was time to say goodbye. I am the type of person who can’t decide on where to eat, let alone when to say goodbye to my best friend. This was the hardest choice I’ve ever made. Today was the worst day I have ever lived in this life.

Your dad and I put your sister with Nanna and drove you to the vet. The vet agreed that things were getting worse and we discussed the procedure of euthanasia.

Our vet really loved you too, he said he wished that there was more that he could’ve done. I assured him there wasn’t. He did everything he could to save his “sweetheart” as he called you.

After we filled out the paperwork for the euthanization, I got down on the floor with you, your dad was there, hanging back. I could tell this was hard for him. I put on your song “Ahead by a Century”, the song we listened to during those long drives when we dreamed of a new life.

As I watched you begin to drift away, I thanked you and prayed for your soul to stay around me. Once I knew you were gone I howled. I didn’t know a noise like that could come out of me. Your father cried as well and he made sure we took some of your lovely golden hair with us. On the way home, I was sick several times in the car. For the first time ever, your father and I drove in complete silence.

I know what we had to do today is just the beginning. I keep thinking I hear you shaking your fur and getting up to get some water. I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something. Did I remember to take Lucky out to pee? Yes, a life without you is going to take some getting used to.

You were “that dog”. The dog that screenplays and books are written about. The ones that save children from fires, the dogs you hear about on the news. Solid, loving, a defender.

I don’t know how we will get over losing you. We know your suffering is over and for that we are thankful. I know we gave you the best life we could. However, I feel like I was never able to repay you for everything you’ve done for me.

I wanted to write a fitting tribute to you. I wanted people to understand exactly what you have done for us and how you shaped my life. I still feel like this didn’t fully explain the impact your love had on my life. I feel like it is a “had to be there” kind of thing. I feel lucky that I “got to be there”.

Goodbye, our dear Lucky, we will love you forever. We will never stop missing you.