I can hear Lovely Lucy’s heavy, plodding paws pace across the floor above my head. She’s probably searching for me. She probably hadn’t realized that I was in my basement office even when I was just five or so feet away. She probably climbed the stairs from the basement to the main floor in search for me. Hopefully she’ll give up and not come back down the stairs looking for me.
Last Winter, Lucy’s changing body, her lumps have started to have lumps, caused me to think she wasn’t going to make it to her twelfth birthday in the Spring. Lucy has adapted. She’s saved her joints by sliding down the stairs on her butt, though if she’s noticed that I’m watching or that I’m catching up, she’ll use her legs.
Lovely Lucy. It was just six years ago that we lost Jules, and Lucy and I had to learn how to adapt without him, without the life of the party.
Every so often, Lucy will show a spark of puppyness, though maybe it’s more of a matter of her being frustrated. She sure has been taking it out on the poor stuffed squirrel that Lucy’s been de-stuffing. I no longer scold her for taking the stuffing out; she’s earned the ability of being able to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants.
Right before I had knee surgery, back in June, I thought the end had come and would have to free Lucy from her physical body. She was hiding. She wasn’t eating. She was restless. But after several hand-fed meals, she turned it around.
Lucy’s a trooper. She does whatever it takes to get around. I just can only hope that I make the most of the short time that we have left.