My beloved Lucky Lou, a 16-year-old Parsons Jack Russell terrier, left us peacefully on Feb. 28.
Lucky was born on a farm in Lillooet, B.C., but her home was the Sunshine Coast from the age of six weeks.
From the moment I saw her, I knew we were meant for each other. The yin and yang to one another, we were rarely apart.
Her water dish still sits half full as I open my door, on this, the second day. It’s funny the things you notice when you lose your dog, like the crumbs on the floor that were always picked up. I am missing that presence that was always at my feet.
Lucky was more than a pet, like a divine intervention of sorts. She gave me her love unconditionally. Her spirit, her charisma, the cutest one in the room, regal, strong, the Queen Bee.
I learned early on that she had the heart of a lion. For such a little dog she was a fierce contender, once chasing a deer for miles. Thank goodness for those tourists on the Coast who rescued her. But her natural instincts to hunt anything that moved were intrinsic.
I think we sometimes love our animals more deeply than we know. If only we loved people in the same way….
She chased a black bear out of the yard. The neighbour’s dog, Rocco, a blue heeler, quickly became her playmate. (I think Rocco just let her win some of the fights but always kept her safe.) First love. She had a few boyfriends. Another, Buck, came to her rescue after a vicious raccoon attack, where she was in a fight for her life with three raccoons. Thank goodness for Buck, a big hound, the farmyard dog, who came running to her rescue. For weeks she looked like a prize fighter after a fight. In a strange kind of way, perhaps, she was also protecting us.
Lucky had many admirers being the charmer she was. Her adventures took her sailing, on many road trips, and appearing as a show dog (“Miss Congeniality”).
Her charm even got us a hotel upgrade since the manager was a Jack Russell lover.
I walk by the duck pond now, it’s spring, hope, new life, and I carry her spirit with me.
Lucky spent a lot of her life at Christenson Village and touched countless lives, (too many to mention here), but for now time has stopped for me. And I must go. People say “Where’s Lucky?”… for me she’s still here.
Even the bank teller had a bag of cookies for Lucky when she’d do cartwheels for a treat.
There are so many stories to tell, so many personal encounters that people have shared with me over the past days, how she touched their lives. I guess we all thought she would live forever. Now her portrait hangs in the entranceway. It’s quiet now.
