The Girl Who Raised 3 Boys

Hazel’s gone and I can’t stop crying

It’s morning and I call my three boys.

“If you want to say goodbye to Hazy, you need to come home,” I say.

My guys are 28, 26, and 22. They do not hesitate. They immediately rearrange their schedules to see their girl. She’s been raising them since they were 14, 12, and 8 years old.

I wait for them and I stroke her face. I talk to her. I cry. She was robust just the night before, my age-defying old girl. We walked together without incident.

Tears consume my face, I’m not ready to say goodbye.

Hazy brings color to our lives. The wild antics of a Labrador Retriever. She’s wasted none of her purpose. She’s got more stories to tell than this writer. But a few stand out.

I call the electric fence guy and he comes to survey our two acres. Hazel’s been trolling the neighborhood. My next-door friend is slowly becoming my next-door adversary as she’s trying to sell her house. Hazel’s never met a flower bed she didn’t like to dig.

She keeps bolting through one section of the yard. I tell the guy it’s the fence. He says, “No, lady it’s the dog. That dog is crazy!”

He’s right.

And it’s perfect because it rhymes with Hazy — Our crazy Hazy.

It is a moniker that doesn’t disappoint.

I’m loading groceries into the back of my car and Hazy darts past me. She bolts into the grocery store. I run after her as she races from aisle to aisle. It seems not everyone finds humor in a chocolate lab roaming the produce section. She stops temporarily to take in the aroma of the bakery. It’s the dog food section that mezmerizes her long enough for a few laughing shoppers to catch her.

I think our escapade is over. I pull my car up to the curb and the thrill of this new adventure makes her sail through the open window and back into the store. Note to self: No more fully open windows, no more grocery store visits.

Labs love their food.

But this isn’t Hazel’s first rodeo.

She wants what she wants. Our property is full of deer and squirrels. Hazy likes a good chase, doesn’t any pooch? But she’s a little impatient. She’s not interested in waiting for one of us. A deer equals an escape, a squirrel equals an escape, and off she goes.

Hazel has taught herself how to open the door. Her impatience grows to include the snow and a variety of other animals. Hazel ups her skill by graduating from levers to the ever challenging round knob.

My husband is annoyed. “You better teach that dog to close the door,” he says. “I’m not getting up to keep closing it.”

My Hazy is a smart girl.

It takes minutes to teach her this task. I open the door slightly, press some cheese above the knob, and when she jumps to retrieve it, I say ‘close.’ Success. Now she lets herself out and comes back in and shuts the door.

There was one other teeny problem. A dog who can enter and leave a house may get to the door before you do.

A repair guy rings our doorbell. Hazel and I are upstairs. She sprints by me and bounds down the stairs. I make my way down to a stunned and nearly speechless man.

“I think you’re dog just let me in,” he says.

“She did,” I say.

We get a new fish.

We are mushy animal lovers. My boys are also Eagles fans. When Michael Vick gets drafted by Philadelphia our house is in an uproar. I insist we can’t cheer for him, and before long we have a fish named Michael Vick. It’s an inside joke.

Hazel wants what she wants. We come downstairs the next morning and Hazy’s about to drink Micheal Vick. We can’t figure out how she’s jumped that high without flying off the counter and into the next room. Hazel just looks at us like business as usual.

She earns the title of Cujo when she accosts my friend’s meatballs on the way up our sidewalk. You have to be a die-hard animal lover to appreciate Hazy’s brand of crazy.

Because Hazel isn’t just talented.

She has every bad doggie habit in the book. It’s a part of her charm. She’s a counter surfer, a dirt digger, a fence bolter, a trash stealer, a jumper, a licker, you name it. She does it. And she has a bit of anxiety.

It’s a part of her appeal.

It has been from the beginning. My boys and I are driving down the road and spot a sign for labrador puppies. I pull into the driveway. They can’t contain their excitement.

“Are we getting a dog?” they say. “Let’s get a dog.”

We play with the puppies but I can’t reach my husband.

My youngest is annoyed.

“You’re a big person,” he says. “Why can’t you make a decision by yourself.”

I’ve neglected to mention my husband is not an animal lover. It’s my three boys and me who are obsessed. My husband tells me no puppy. I rebel as he made me wait six years of marriage to get our first dog.

Hazel finds her way into our car and into our hearts.

She is a quick student and easy to train. But she proves to be smarter than me or just plain stubborn. I like to say Hazel has a little F.U. in her.

She is the sweetest, gentlest dog three boys could ever love.

She doesn’t know a stranger human or four-legged. She approaches everyone without caution. It is almost to the point of her detriment when I sell our house and move into an apartment. She is nearly attacked by two dogs off-leash but she doesn’t register the danger.

Apartment living reignites Hazel’s sense of adventure.

Hazel opens our apartment door and rides the elevator down to the lobby. She knows where the treats are and she’s off to find them. The staff finds her roaming the lobby and calls me. I race home. The visual of a dog letting herself onto an elevator and knowing to get off in the ‘treat’ lobby still amuses me. We never figured out what happened because if there was a person on the elevator with her they never came forward. I had to start booby trapping the door before I left.

She is the girl who helped raise three boys.

She stole their food when they weren’t looking. Got dirt on their beds. Took up too much room with her seventy-five-pound body on the couch. Ran with them and after them. And snuggled through their laughter, worries, and heartache.

She waits for them when they leave, hours in front of the window. When my oldest son left for college I couldn’t find her. I later found her in his bedroom. She did the same as each of her boys left home.

Hazel missed the days her entire pack was still under one roof.

This morning has caught me off-guard. It’s a drastic turn for a girl who’s never shown her age. I wait for my boys and continue to stroke her aging body.

I cry for my sweet crazy Hazy.

I owe her a debt.

She has filled my boys with love. She is a friend, refuge, protector, and family. A safe soul in their lives. I know she’s fourteen. I know it’s been a luxury to love her this long. But she’s one of us.

I feel it. My boys feel it.

I’m happy she is leaving us peacefully. She is vibrant until the morning hours when I wake to find her resting and unable to rise.

My oldest son arrives first.

Hazel struggles to rise up and greet him.

Her effort prompts joint tears between us. My middle son comes minutes later and she finds the strength to lift her head and lick him. She does the same once more when my youngest son draws near.

I am overwhelmed with emotion. She and I have not had this exchange. Hazy knew she could quietly save her strength until her boys were home. She would save her last greetings of love for them.

It’s time to go.

One of my boys scoops her up.

It’s Hazy’s last car ride but she can’t enjoy her usual thrill.

I place my hand on her and tell her mommy’s here. We arrive at our small town veterinary clinic. It is thankfully familiar as I grew up working at the kennel once affiliated with this vet.

My son places Hazy gently on the soft bedding positioned on the floor. She is wrapped in one of her blankets from home. I sit on the ground beside her holding her sweet face…one last time.

My boys surround her.

She scans our faces. She knows all of her people are here. We cry in unison. Her gentle, giant heart is slowly giving way. The vet hands me a can of Cheese Wiz. Ever the lab, even in the end, Hazy devours the liquid gold.

Our sobs grow louder.

I stroke her face. I kiss her. I talk to her.