So Sad

I should be blogging about Luke and Owens' birthdays, or the fabulous week long reunion we had in Virginia with Mike's family. Or even how dreamy summer afternoons at the pool are when all 3 boys are independently swimming and playing. Or even about finishing all the beauracrap for our next adoption, or the baby girl quilt I'm making, or the wedding dress I'm helping with for my cousin's wedding. All wonderful and all happy.


But, I can't. I'm heartbroken. My Lucy Bear has cancer. Two weeks ago she had a large lump removed from her left cheek bone. It was a major surgery, they did a biopsy at the lab and determined it was an aggressive cancer. It is, its already it's growing back. Cancer is terrible, cancer on your face is just awful and cruel. She seems totally unaffected by it, totally happy and normal. This makes it even harder for me. She takes everything like a champ.


I remember when she was sick as a puppy so we took her home early, away from her mom to nurse her back to health. Her mom, a St. Bernard, was so old, she wasn't producing enough milk. Lucy was so sick, but still so playful and happy. She was mischevious and funny, so we named her Lucy after Lucielle Ball. She survived on tuna fish until her adult teeth came in. She wouldn't touch the puppy formula. She could climb like a cat--up and over the baby gates. Then she got big, really big. So we called her our cow dog.


Bruce and Lucy were my babies, before I had babies.


Lucy never jerks on the leash--a natural healer. She kept me warm in Minnesota, a great pillow dog. She loves all the good things in life, friends, food and naps. She keeps watch on the boys at the park. She lays next to me with her head up, watching each one, keeping track of them. She stands up when she gets nervous about something, and then lays back down when they are in the clear. Once a stray dog ran out barking at us from an alley during a jog with Luke in the stroller. She jumped between us and the dog, standing her ground and let out one deep, loud bark. The other dog skidded to a stop, turned and ran off. One Lucy bark is generally all that's needed.


She howls at the police or fire sirens. It's hilarious.


Perhaps my favorite Lucy memory was walking in on her and Luke playing. She was laying on the ground on her belly. Luke was sitting on her neck and shoulders, riding her like a bucking bronco. Her flappy cheeks were his reins. She was sitting perfectly still--taking it like a champ. Luke was having the time of his life. Lucy just looked up at me--begging with her eyes for relief. I told Luke to stop, that Lucy didn't like what he was doing to her face, but he kept on. I watched for a minute to see what she would do. She took the torture a bit longer, then she lifted her back legs and slowing slid her big head out from under Luke, until he was sitting safely on the ground. He thought that was great, kind of like a dog slide down her neck and head. She slowly just walked away to find another place to nap. She's never barked at the boys or ever shown them anything but love.


Lucy is a lover. We call her our labernard--half black lab, half St. Bernard. She's 9 and I thought we would have 3 - 6 more years with her. I'm dreading the trip back to the vet to end her pain. How will I know it's time? How will I be able to . . . kill her? Should we take the boys when it's time? We miss her while we're on vacation, what will we do when she's gone? All Dogs Go to Heaven, right? I think she should go to heaven for sure.


Aaron is laying by her on the floor right now. Petting her belly and playing with her ears and whiskers. She loves the attention. I guess that's the right thing to do. Just love her while she's still with us. And try not to cry when I look at her poor cancer face