Lucy, who is Dillon's best friend. (I just can't write this paragraph in past tense yet). Dillon wakes up in the morning and first thing, he looks around the house for Lucy. Dillon goes to bed at night and Lucy's is the last face he kisses, getting down on his hands and knees. He talks to her for hours, and he bosses her around. He processes through her ("Lucy, Greg's not here, only Megan's here.") and expresses himself through her ("Lucy wants to watch the Dodgers, mom!").
Lucille Suddeth came to the family for Dillon's 18th birthday, and she has always been his dog. Some years ago, she contracted an autoimmune disease - she went blind, had some tumors, lost a bunch of teeth.......and developed magical angel wings on her face. Only fitting for such a peaceful, loving dog. Such a gentle dog for being such a big girl.
She didn't bark for months. Lucy had this spot in the corner of the dining room, and at first she would curl herself into it and observe for hours. Days. She was afraid of everything, but strangely she wasn't afraid of Dillon's loud mouth and grabby hands. She didn't like rain, to the point that we thought maybe she was a Katrina rescue. When she finally barked at the mailman we thought, "Now she knows she's home." Literally the only bad thing I ever remember her doing was chewing a pair of Greg's sunglasses that he left on the patio - and I think that actually might have been Queenie. She was an excellent chaser of squirrels and loved walks and car rides. The backseat of Greg's car was striped with dog hair that was impossible to get out; sometimes he would drive her around just for the hell of it, because she loved taking a ride.
One time the groomers shaved her wrong and she had a giant poofy head - Dillon came home and said "What have you done with MY dog?" After it grew out, he started calling her "The Real Lucy."
The thing about getting a rescue dog is that you don't know their entire history, only their history with you. Lucy was a mystery, but she came at the right time and stayed as long as she could, and then a little longer. When someone (or somedog) dies after an extended illness, it is both not a shock and yet a great blow. There were so many narrow escapes already! We love you Lucy, with your dog face and dog hair and your dog smile - you are the best dog. We're going to miss you so much, but we're grateful you're not sick anymore.
From Greg's play, Angel Feathers:
Roy
She knows how they try to trick you, this ordinary looking gate keeper who turns out to be the devil. The gatekeeper tries to trick a dead coon hunter into coming through this gate and leaving his dead hound behind. Tells him the hound dog can't come in, tells him the hound dog has to go through a separate gate for dogs. But the hound starts barking and the coon hunter smells something fishy. Or the hound dog does. Devil smell or something. Then the hunter and his dog say thanks but no thanks and mosey on down the road to a nice little garden where they run into a nice little fella, who turns out to be St. Pete in bib overalls. Well, St. Pete tells him that he and his dog are more than welcome to come into the Garden of Heaven together. Tells 'im that it's one big happy Heaven for man and beast alike. Same place. Same Heaven.
