"LuLu"
Once in a while there comes along that special dog. There had been a number of dogs over the years: Pierre the poodle, Queen the German Shepard, and Snow Ball, clearly of unknown descent, who was also called Tiger Beat by Susan (Dot’s daughter, my teen-hood friend) in honor of that teeny magazine of the same name. And there had been other dogs. Most had belonged to relatives or friends and some had come to need a home due to the illness or death of their previous owners. LuLu, usually referred to in the singular – Lu – was no different. She had been passed from college-student grandson to busy daughter and then to Dot, grandmother and mother of the previous two. For Dot, Lu is that special dog that has served as loyal companion and so sincerely fulfilled that distinct historical position of best friend.
Lu is a fine specimen of the regal English bulldog with a usual life expectancy of about eight years. “Lu is well into her 13th year,” Dot explained. “So, I guess that makes her about 91 in dog years.”
There she sat, her large round eyes, flat face, rolls and wrinkles, each leading down to a jutting jaw that hosts a pushed-in nose, all resting on a thick neck and muscular body. In spite of her fierce looks and blocky torso she wore a keen expression and distinguished look of intelligence. It was as though she might speak a word or ask a question— to which I was concerned that I might not know the answer. She was alert and intently focused on the stranger that had just walked into the room.
“She loves people,” Dot said as Lu finished her assessment of me and waddled over to her bed. On the way, she picked up a shaggy toy that appeared to have at one time been a Daschund with a squeaky inside. Not hearing anything, and judging from its thready appearance and Lu’s smartly executed grip, I surmised that the squeaking days were over. Watching her, Dot added, “She likes to be clean and likes her things clean. If her bed is dirty, she won’t get on it. She will lie down beside it until it is washed. She loves to be bathed and will bolt to the bathroom to sit beside the tub when she senses the time is near.”
“When I first got her, it was supposed to be a temporary stay while Susan was out of town, but I just never gave her back. She did live with George, my grandson, for a while at school. And now she just loves college boys. If she hears a basketball, she stops dead in her tracks then bolts past me to see if she can find it. I think this is from her early days on campus and I guess from watching those boys play basketball. They all used to call her Thelma.”
“She likes to ride in the car. Oh yes, she sits in the front with me.”
“Now she’s napping. She does this a lot and we have lots of trips to the vet for her arthritis. She no longer bolts past me and takes a lot of medicine for the swelling and pain. She used to go out and sit on the porch and watch the birds. Now, she won’t go unless I go with her and then she wants to come right back in. She used to love that porch.”
I took a few photos and made some notes and we talked a little while longer.
“She is still nosey and funny and makes me laugh,” Dot said. And, as she walked me to the door she added, “I’ll tell you, she has been such a joy and a constant companion. Now, I’m just trying to keep her comfortable and, of course, clean.” She smiled and as I turned to leave, she said her goodbyes and weakly concluded, “I guess we all face tough decisions.”
Vicki Wood, JD