Farewell, Pupper Dog...

When Meggie was small (two or three years old maybe?), we got a puppy. This puppy was the third in a line of bad puppy choices. We named her Luck of the Irish (hard core Notre Dame football fans live in this house), Daddy called her Pupper Dog, but I said we should call her Lucky...because, after our line of bad puppy choices, if we kept her she'd be lucky.

Lucky stuck, and we kept her for over 10 years.
I'm not a pet lover, but Lucky was a great dog. She was probably the only dog I could have tolerated. She was basically a walking rug...never barked, never chewed, never created messes, rarely jumped on the furniture. She was easy to housebreak and mostly just wanted to sit on the feet of anyone who gave her attention.
After over 10 years of being the one who took her to the groomer, took her to the vet, and dealt with letting her in and out (and in and out) for potty time, I had had enough. The poor thing wasn't getting enough attention or exercise. My sister, Debbie, always threatened when she bought a house she was gonna steal Lucky for herself.
In February of 2007, Debbie and her now-husband, Brandon, bought a house. Daddy and I decided it was time for Lucky to go from being our walking rug to being Debbie's housewarming gift. Debbie and Brandon were ecstatic!

Meggie was furious. (She quickly got over it.)
So Lucky went from being ignored at our house to being pampered at Debbie's. Debbie and Brandon let her sleep on the couch and on the bed. She got tons of walks and lots of love. (She DID, however, pee on Debbie's wedding dress the night before her wedding, since it was on the bed where Lucky wanted to nap. But I digress...) Lucky finally was getting the life she deserved.
Fast forward to now. Debbie called me Friday morning to let me know that Lucky had reached the end of her life. She had many physical ailments that were hindering her quality of life. She had severe vestibular disease, which made it nearly impossible for her to walk...she fell over when she tried. She was blind and deaf. And she had lost control of her toileting.

Debbie feels awful. I feel worse. I feel badly that we had 10 of the best years of Lucky's life -- and didn't appreciate her nearly enough -- and Debbie got stuck with the end-of-life yuckiness. Debbie assured me it was fine, but she felt we should know that Lucky was going to be put down on Saturday morning.
Sorry, Lucky old gal...we didn't love you enough or enjoy your company nearly as much as you deserved. I'm glad you got to spend your golden years with Debbie and Brandon, where you were pampered and loved the right way. And as sad as it makes me that we can't visit you anymore and let you sit on our feet, I'm glad your suffering ended this weekend.
For a self-proclaimed non-pet-lover, this was a lot harder than I expected...