Lucky’s Legacy

—by Louise Calvert-Dale

When you lose someone you love, it’s like losing a limb. Or having someone stab you in the heart. It hurts. It’s hard to navigate life. There is a deep weighted sadness that comes and goes. Sleep is impossible. Appetite diminishes, and living becomes slower, almost meditative, in the moment, in this grief. 

To some people, pets are just animals, a form of amusement in the household. And so, losing a pet is sad but not tragic, part of the natural cycle of life. They move on, even buying a new pet as a replacement,  within the year.

This is not the case for my husband Peter and me. For us, dogs are souls with fur and four legs, put on this earth for a purpose, often to teach their owners important truths. We are still digesting these truths as we come to terms with the passing of our dear dog Lucky on August 1. 

Lucky was nearly fourteen years old, a good age for his breed, the Hovawart. It’s a breed of ancient German origin and takes its name from a word that translates as “guardian of the estate”. He came from the Moosonee dog rescue. We had no idea he was a pure bred until one day in Pet Value, a German woman looked at our dog and said to Peter:

“Oh, you’ve got a Hovawart. I know this breed from my home country. Here, look at it on the Internet.”

And of course, the rest was history. Lucky looked and behaved exactly like this breed, black and tan in colour, strong, and energetic, demanding lots of exercise. He was smart, loyal, mischievous, stubborn, and domineering with other dogs. We had our hands full from the beginning.

Lucky was a personality that is sorely missed. He taught two senior citizens how to play as we gradually became part of his pack, his parents, but never his masters. He arrived at the age of four months already spoiled and untrained from his loving foster family, where we were told he was the leader of his five siblings. His first day, at mealtime, he stole an unattended pork chop from a plate on my kitchen counter.  In fact, stealing things became one of his signature traits. He loved being chased and stealing things always led to a chase.

During Covid, he specialized in pulling masks from people’s pockets or even purses. He loved to run off with my gardening gloves or pots. On a walk home one of his favourite antics was to steal Peter’s hat off his head. Winter mitts were pulled from pockets, and joyfully flipped in the air followed by dancing and prancing.

And then there was the monster game. Lucky was a game initiator and from the get-go he taught us his rules. Lucky trained Peter in this specialized activity. It involved the human holding arms out Dracula fashion while the dog person ran in wide circles finally ending with the dog spinning like a top and ending with the dog jumping on Dracula. They played that game almost nightly and carried it on into our winter holidays, on the beach at Hilton Head. Always it made us laugh.

Lucky loved water. This included the Coulson Creek on our farm, and cottage lakes. Coulson Creek is cold and Lucky loved sitting in it on hot days after a hike or persuading us to throw him rocks which he could scratch and scape back onto the shoreline. This was his rock game. He also swam like a beaver in deep water and jumped off docks to swim alongside me. He loved to steal pool noodles and drag people on them to shore.

Lucky was highly attuned to the natural environment and had a strong sense of smell. He could track wild creatures from a great distance which led me to leash him constantly in our bush walks. But I was rarely in control with this strong powerful dog. Trying to keep him away from spawning salmon in our creek was a precarious endeavour, once landing me flat on my back and winded in October in our cold fast-running creek. And then there was the time I made the mistake of walking at dusk in our valley during the salmon run. Lucky pulled me right to a large black bear in the river who didn’t appreciate us interrupting his meal. Lucky was lucky to have a mother who enjoyed adventure and appreciated his attributes.

Lucky never learned his lesson around porcupines, and we never learned our lesson around stinking dead fish. Both had stressful, costly and exhausting though non-life-threatening outcomes. There never seemed to be a dull moment around that dog.

Lucky was a healthy dog for most of his life. His foraging for dead and dirty wild things eventually caught up with his digestive track but we helped him along with antibiotics and special prescription food from his vet, when colitis set in.

He was a lady’s man and seemed to prefer women. He hated hugs and as a dominant dog could not tolerate anyone holding him for any length of time. He selected how to offer his affection, like joining me at my feet every morning for coffee, telling me when he needed his walks and always that warm coming home welcome. He loved greeting company in our driveway and as a youngster was incorrigible about jumping to demonstrate his enthusiasm.

We are lost in this household without him. Life without Lucky is lonely, sad and quiet. It’s hard to believe that one day he was here and the next day he was not. But there is a sense of relief that his suffering is over. Lucky had been diagnosed with bone cancer in his leg. His last two months were stressful, focussing on his needs, attending vet appointments, giving him medication, cooking special foods, keeping him comfortable.  

Now he is gone, and six huge tubs of frozen ground turkey are in my freezer. I must have been in denial buying extra food on sale at Costco.  Lucky tried so hard to stay with us and to keep moving in spite of the pain. But in the end, a few days before the long weekend in August, we had to face the fact that he would never recover and that he didn’t deserve to suffer any longer. We had to do what was right to help our poor darling pet. And so Lucky took his last breath in his bed on our porch, surrounded by Peter and me, and a kind and compassionate vet.

Life in our household is tender still.  Lucky’s ashes are beside me as I write. His empty bed sits in our kitchen beside Peter’s rocking chair. It still has a hint of Lucky smells. So many daily rituals centred around Lucky. We miss him so much. Peter always rose early before me, and he and Lucky did the ridge coffee walk together in the morning mist. I would feed him after these walks. In elderhood, Lucky was a forager and ate small quantities several times a day. Evening meals were also rituals of play. Licking cooled barbecue grills was one of his routines as were after dinner sillies, humping his bed, asking for toys, play fighting and rolling upside down. 

Lucky was a wonder dog who taught us so much. We learned to speak dog language. We entered into the childlike world of play. We kept active with daily walks. We observed wildlife otherwise undetected on our property. We had his unconditional love and companionship. In many ways he was the centre of our universe. 

When we picked up Lucky’s ashes from the crematorium we were given a small plastic bag with tiny turquoise fragments inside. This was accompanied by a handout describing the contents of the bag. The text described how in the Buddhist tradition the cremation of loved ones is followed by searching through the ashes for crystals which are considered gifts left behind. If crystals are present in the ashes, it is believed that the pet had a very good soul and is leaving these gifts to thank the owner and to protect them. If the ashes change colour, it is the pet telling the owner to practice what it was on this earth to teach them.

When I asked Peter what it was that Lucky was here to teach us, his immediate response, with a grin on his face, was patience. For me it was laughter and love. May we honour our dear pet by using these attributes as we continue to hold him close to our hearts here on Triple Fox Farm.