Lucky
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Lucky was a yellow mutt of undetermined parentage, but with a large smattering of lab and more than his share of male hormones. He belonged to my nearest neighbor, who lived down the road a quarter mile. Belong, didn't necessarily mean resided. I've walked out of my house at various hours of the day or night, and chances were 50/50 that I'd have Lucky laid up on the porch, acting like he belonged here.
Lucky's main squeeze did reside at my house. Oreo was my border collie, and with the exception of an on-going relationship with Lucky, was a very smart dog, as border collies tend to be. Country dogs both, they weren't penned and didn't stay on any kind of leash. Life was good, food was plentiful and love was free.
Which meant puppies. Usually a litter a year, which meant my wife put a lot of time and energy finding homes for all those yipping, tottering and wobbling furballs. For fourteen years. Those dogs were both long-lived and consistent.
Occasionally, I'd run Lucky's butt back home, when he'd outstay his welcome. Usually, he'd just give me a go-to-hell look and trot on off, but I have had to load him up in the bed of my pickup and haul him back to my neighbor Jerry's place. Or sometimes, Jerry would get to missing him and drive up to my house, to collect a yellow dog and a cup of coffee. Lucky was Jerry's knocking-about buddy, since Jerry retired from the USDA, but Jerry's wife was still running the nursing department at a local university and none of Jerry's daughters lived around here.
So, if Lucky was at home, anywhere Jerry went, Lucky went. Riding in the back of a white F-150, if they left home. Barking madly at my house as they drove past. Probably a canine equivalent of sticking his tongue out at me or maybe it was, "Yo, babe, whazzup!" directed at Oreo. This same scene went on for years. Until it didn't.
Oreo came down with lymphoma and I had to put her down, three years ago this past November. She had a good life and lived to be over 16 years-old. After she was gone, Lucky didn't come around much anymore. Probably a combination of no Oreo and the fact he was getting way on up there, himself. Still, if I heard mad barking going down the road, it would be Lucky barking from the cab of Jerry's pickup as it passed the house. He'd graduated to the cab, since he couldn't get up in the bed. I don't guess he or Jerry minded.
The year after Oreo died, Jerry had Lucky put down. Sarcoma. Sad thing was, Jerry had cancer, too. Brain tumor, his daughter told me. Oh, they did surgery on him and he made it a couple of years, but he couldn't drive his pickup anymore. One of his daughters, Marie, moved back home and helped her mom take care of her dad. Jerry used to joke he had the highest educated caregivers in the community, a PhD nurse and a lawyer. Every now and then, Jerry would give them the slip, hop on his UTV and run over to my house or one of the other neighbors. He'd catch me out in the garden working or maybe out back, splitting firewood, and I'd stop long enough to visit with him a few minutes. Usually wasn't very long until Marie would be turning in the driveway, driving Jerry's Ford pickup and trying to chase down her father. He had a cellphone, but he usually forgot to carry it. On purpose.
Jerry has been in the hospital the last ten days or so. Not anymore, though. Marie called the house this morning to let us know he had died during the night. At some point, I guess the family is relieved that the sickness and suffering is over. Marie did say she hoped God didn't mind getting woke up this morning, by a grizzled old cowboy, bouncing around heaven in a Ford pick-up, with a yellow dog barking his head off in the bed.
Arrangements haven't been made, but I guess I'll gave to drag out my funeral suit. And order some flowers, of course.
Wonder if they've got any arrangements that feature a yellow dog among the flowers?
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Sorry to hear about your neighbor and glad that you were good neighbors…
Out of curiosity, are any of Lucky and Oreo’s pups still in the family?
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None of Oreo's and Lucky's, but Oreo cheated on him for her last litter (what can I say, she was a bitch) with a black lab.
I have one of her last litter. Best watchdog I've ever had. The wife can tell you if it's the mail lady, FedEx or somebody she doesn't know, just by her bark. And while she sounds absolutely berserk at times, she's actually a real sweetheart.
Reckon when she goes, I'll bury her out in the field by her mom or maybe in the backyard by the Sheltie. If I'm alive, that is. Hope her grave isn't as hard to dig as Oreo's. I had to do that one with a pick.
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@lufins-dad said in Lucky:
Sorry to hear about your neighbor and glad that you were good neighbors…
Out of curiosity, are any of Lucky and Oreo’s pups still in the family?
Oh, and about neighbors...Jerry's wife's family and my family have been neighbors for at least 120 years. Don't see that, except on the rural route...
