Lucy Lou Halker

Rest in peace my sweet, Lucy. I had to say goodbye to my beloved Basset Hound today. She was just under 15 years, and lived a life full of joy and happiness.

I surprised my parents with her in 1996. My brother and I drove to Riverside, and pulled a "best to beg forgiveness than ask permission" move. And really, who can resist a puppy. We had just lost our cocker spaniel, Ginger, who lived to the ripe old age of 18.  I decided I couldn't live a day without a dog.  I still feel this way, but thankfully I have 3 furry faces at home so no new pet has been purchased.  She was truly a chosen pup.  Every other animal we had ever had, kinda found us.  The first and last dog I will ever get from a breeder.  I picked her because she was the only tri colored basset with a black head. Her head immediately turned brown, I suppose that serves me right.  She was this roly poly little puppy, and I'm pleased to say she maintained her girlish figure.  

If our parents were displeased they got over it quickly.  Lucy was very charming in that way.  She bonded with Callie, our Calico right away.  I guess by bonding I mean Callie wrapped her arms around Lucy, and rabbit kicked her in the chest.  The two of them would run around the backyard chasing each other, which was fine, until we came home and Lucy playfully had Callie's whole head in her mouth. It was time for Lucy to have a playmate, and luckily, my friend Carrie knew just the dog, Daisy.

Daisy was a french basset just slightly older than Lucy.  Her daddys were splitting up, and Daisy needed a home.  She became Lucy's new side kick, or maybe her mentor, it was kinda hard to tell.  She definitely saved Callie, and Callie seemed to know it.  She was often found sleeping curled up in Daisy's legs.  Daisy kinda put Lucy to shame in the looks department. Lucy was the Jan Brady to Daisy's Marsha, but Lucy never seemed to hold a grudge. Lucy loved one and all, as long as you were not another dog.  She pretended not to like cats, but we often caught Blackie, our appropriately named black cat, cleaning her face.  She would give us an embarrassed look, but never protested.  She was always with people and loved to announce their arrival.  Running, barking, and constant tail wagging.  She would also announce the arrival of a new day by running the perimeter of the backyard, and then standing in the dead center and barking her head of for 10 minutes straight.  That bark kept us safe.  She scared of two burglars attempting to break into a window.  I'm hoping she really was trying to kill them, but wonder if she would have just rolled onto to her back for a tummy scratch if they had been inclined to give her one. 

She made it through many family milestones.  High school graduation for Steve, College for us both. Two retirements. Numerous boyfriends, she was a great listener.  One marriage, one soon to be married, and the end of another.  One grandkid, three furry cousins, two cat siblings, and one Daisy.  I think she looked for Daisy until the day she passed.  You have never seen a sadder dog than Lucy, after Daisy disappeared.  She helped re-abilitate her dear uncle Jon.  Although she "loved" pulling him in his wheel chair, she was much happier having him walk with her.  She loved her auntie Donna, who lavished her with gifts and attention.  She could always be found at her side when she was visiting.  Although she wasn't an immediate fan of Henry's, when she learned that he often dropped food, she lightened her dismissal.  She could then be found perched next to his high chair at all meals, and he loved his "woocy".  She never wanted to miss anything.  Up until her last day, she was the first one up, and the last one to go to sleep.  There were many naps in between, but she always waited with the last person up.  

She wasn't always the easiest to live with.  Her nails were always too long no matter how often you cut them. She did bite the hand that fed her...cookies.  It became apparent that the grass was no longer the only toilet for Lucy.  And the barking.  The incessant barking whenever you got home, or any other noise for that matter. It could drive you a little crazy.

But, today I came home to a quiet house.  I miss her.