Lucky at Christmas, patiently donning a wreath for the camera
The summer before our youngest, Seth, entered first grade, we rescued a five-week-old hound/shepherd mix. This Wednesday, Seth began his senior year of high school, and it was Lucky's last day with us.
The vet said he had lived up to his name, especially this past year, as he had dodged a myriad of health problems. He went blind in the spring, but, like most trusting, devoted dogs - he took it in stride as long as he could be near us.
I think he wanted to spend one last summer with the kids. Morgan moved back up to college last weekend and posted a beautiful tribute to Lucky on her Facebook page. I'm glad he hung around long enough to meet a new school year.
We still have two little dachshund mixes - they just turned 13 and haven't slowed down, despite their white muzzles. Time is less kind to the larger breeds.
Rest in Peace, Lucky - we were the lucky ones.
Here's a poem I wrote earlier this summer:
My Old Dog
This dog of mine
was once a pup.
He’d romp and lick
the sunshine up.
This dog of mine
when he had grown
could guard the yard
and grind a bone.
This dog of mine
now old, now gray –
needs me to guide
him through his day.
This dog of mine
so slow and frail
wears years of love
from nose to tail.
©Robyn Hood Black, all rights reserved
For the Poetry Friday Roundup, visit the ever-talented and all-around wonderful Doraine at Dori Reads.
The vet said he had lived up to his name, especially this past year, as he had dodged a myriad of health problems. He went blind in the spring, but, like most trusting, devoted dogs - he took it in stride as long as he could be near us.
I think he wanted to spend one last summer with the kids. Morgan moved back up to college last weekend and posted a beautiful tribute to Lucky on her Facebook page. I'm glad he hung around long enough to meet a new school year.
We still have two little dachshund mixes - they just turned 13 and haven't slowed down, despite their white muzzles. Time is less kind to the larger breeds.
Rest in Peace, Lucky - we were the lucky ones.
Here's a poem I wrote earlier this summer:
My Old Dog
This dog of mine
was once a pup.
He’d romp and lick
the sunshine up.
This dog of mine
when he had grown
could guard the yard
and grind a bone.
This dog of mine
now old, now gray –
needs me to guide
him through his day.
This dog of mine
so slow and frail
wears years of love
from nose to tail.
©Robyn Hood Black, all rights reserved
For the Poetry Friday Roundup, visit the ever-talented and all-around wonderful Doraine at Dori Reads.