THE WIND PHONE
We Rescued Lucky From a Pet Store
I’m not sure who was more lucky, us or him
My eyes glazed over, unable to see through the flood of tears. “I am sorry and sad to tell you that Lucky was put to sleep an hour ago.” An email from my husband with the subject line “Lucky” told me what I was about to face before I opened it.
I had been in Antarctica for ten days. Before leaving, I decided to remain disconnected from the internet and electronic communication. It was a risky decision to be out of touch because my mom suffers from chronic organ failures, yes, multiple organs — heart, lung, and kidneys. She has been in critical condition since 2016, and her doctors have kept her going.
Antarctica was a worry not only because of my mom but also our adorable little guy, Lucky. I thought we had more time.
When Lucky came to live with us
“Mama, there are new puppies at the pet store in Philipsburg. I don’t want to buy one, but can we please go look at them?” My youngest, Lucy, was ten years old and wanted a new dog after our Golden Retriever, Scruffy, died on August 20, 2010.
I am not a quick rebounder to replace a pet. It had been less than a year.
Walking in with both of my daughters, I saw a large yellow starburst sign above a cage on the top row with a furry, long-haired little dog inside. The pet store had named him Gordo, which means fat in Spanish.
Lucy quickly lost interest in the puppies when they nipped at her fingers. She approached Gordo’s cage and asked me if she could hold him. The pet store associate said my daughters could sit with him in a petting room but could not lift him off the ground.
I looked at them while they petted this ball of fluff. My girls were enjoying his energy and love. While I wasn’t ready for a dog, it was clear they were.
I inquired about the sign and why he was the bargain puppy of the day. The mother bit his umbilical cord too closely, and the testicles didn’t descend, which required neutering. At birth, his left front shoulder broke, causing his leg to turn inwards. He also had a snaggle tooth — he wasn’t pet store grade.
Only one customer was interested in the four months the pet store owned him. Two days later, they returned him.
Due to the medical costs and initial purchase, the pet store lost money on him. At this point, they were trying to get rid of him instead of sending him to a kill shelter, which was happening the following day.
“We’ll take him,” I said. No way could I let this little guy go to a kill shelter. We renamed him Lucky because we rescued him, though not in the conventional way.
While I didn’t want him to go to a kill shelter, I wasn’t thrilled about getting a dog, especially a little one. I never liked little dogs because they were often too yappy and high-strung — at least, that was my experience. Growing up on the farm, we had medium — to large-size dogs.
As Lucky’s personality developed, I grew to love him deeply. Although my heart was still not ready to receive another pet, I reconciled it with seeing Lucky as Lucy’s dog.
Fourteen years of loving and caring for Lucky
Lucky was born on January 31, 2011, and died on March 6, 2024. Over his 13 years, he gave us tremendous joy and love.
He was a compassionate dog. If Lucy was having a bad day, Lucky was her constant companion, giving her strength and comfort. When she left for college, he did the same for me; I was unprepared to be an empty nester. Lucky did his best to fill the gap when my little girl left. When I visited my niece and her family in St. Charles, Lucky would sit patiently by my great-nephew, who has Down syndrome.
Our Lucky Man was a stoic pup, which often created issues because we didn’t know when he felt sick. During a comprehensive exam, we found out he had kidney stones. A urinary tract infection was discovered after it had progressed so far that he was unwilling to pee. While petting Lucky, he yelped, which turned out to be a deep-set ear infection. Blood results from a comprehensive exam pointed to a potential diagnosis of Cushing’s.
Aside from being stoic, Lucky had a stubborn streak. He was never fully house-trained. Often, we spent an hour outside waiting for him to pee and or poop. He’d look at me with his pleading eyes while I’d insist he go. It was a battle of wills.
As his health declined, the battles stopped. He would go where he needed. Now that he is gone, I feel shame and regret about all those times he desperately wanted to come back in but finally gave in to my demands, squatting to relieve himself.
He lived with Cushing’s for over four years. The final year was tough because his appetite dropped drastically. We’d work on different methods to encourage him to eat. The vet discontinued the Cushing’s meds when his weight dropped dangerously low. We knew this meant a quicker progression of the disease. In the last year of his life, he was carried up and down stairs because his shoulder joints were more vulnerable.
A few days before I left for Antarctica, my husband, daughter, and I chatted about Lucky’s health. I had taken him to the vet several weeks earlier, and he said Lucky was approaching the end of life but still had some time.
Losing a loved one when you can’t say goodbye
Lucy and I traveled the same week. On March 6, she was flying home from South Carolina, and I was on the White Continent, unreachable.
My husband took Lucky to the vet because he was experiencing a rapid decline from the day before. He was falling while trying to walk, and his shaking had grown more severe. Since losing so much weight, Lucky often shook, but it progressed substantially in 24 hours. He was yipping, yapping, and barking — not his usual behavior.
The vet said he could have a seizure at any moment because his heart rate dropped to 30, and he was going into shock. The vet recommended putting him down. Unable to reach either of us, Galen made the decision. I don’t doubt the decision; however, Lucy and I never had a chance to say goodbye.
Grief takes on a different form when you are stripped of the opportunity to bid loved ones farewell.
I know Galen gave him love and made Lucky feel safe. Galen held his tiny frame wrapped in a towel, keeping him warm while he sat on the cold hospital floor, waiting for the meds to do their job. Knowing Galen did the right things is not enough to help with my grief.
I would have held him tight and given him kisses. Shown Lucky how much I loved and appreciated him as our alpha pet. Apologized for my irrational irritations when he wouldn’t pee or poop on demand and asked for forgiveness. My guilt seems to hold my grieving process hostage. He was a sensitive and forgiving pup. If I could have asked, he would have granted it.
It has been three months since Lucky died. Neither of the other pets has assumed the alpha role. I think they see me in it now. Simba, our cat who loved Lucky very much, seeks extra affection. Reya, our other dog, goes to Lucky’s bed and sniffs it, then shakes it or pushes it around and looks at me. We’re all trying to find our footing without our Lucky Man.
He was a wonderful dog. We miss him greatly.
Thank you Christine Schoenwald for your great support in editing!
