My sixteen year old Cocker Spaniel, Lucky, breathed his last on Sunday, November 26, 2006. He had been struggling for the past four years, blind and deaf, increasingly defined by his fatty tumors and arthritis. Yet, I loved my `dawg!’ And he was a specimen of devotion to me, `the Master.’ These last four years he would literally and constantly be `at my feet.’ And, I confess, the devotion was mutual. Suffering from severe arthritis as he did, I resorted to carrying him upstairs each night when it was `bedtime.’

The process of aging, however, was taking its toll. Now, Lucky was older and stiffer. The tumors were advancing and we prayed for nature to `take her course.’ His daily walks, having increased to seven per day, were beginning to adversely impact my work and life. I was actually arranging my daily calendar to accommodate Lucky’s need to `go out.’ The neighbors advised me, `It’s time to put him down.’ I vowed that I would do exactly that, whenever his quality of life dipped below a reasonable level. (?) By early November, I prepared myself for that fateful trip to the Vet, to `Doc Schrader’s House.’ Fortunately, that trip never materialized.

Lucky’s gone three months now and I can honestly say that, while I miss him, I haven’t wished him back. Instead, I am wrapped in a mantle of gratitude: for the gift that Lucky has been in my life over so many years, for the joyful pleasure that he brought to us `most of the time’ and for his `passing’ naturally, at home. No observable pain or suffering. He simply fell asleep. We buried him that same afternoon in the back, near our deck. Champion, the old Cocker/Labrador mix, is lying opposite him. But that’s another story.

I find myself thinking a lot about Lucky now that Lent is here, a season which rivets our attention on life and death matters. And his `passing’ is directing me toward reflection:

a. The gift of life is exactly that – a gift. For a little while, we and all living things are privileged to breathe the air of creation. And while the length and quality of our days may vary due to a multitude of factors, we inhale this divine gift of life together. Yet, we do not have life forever. Coming to grips with my dog’s mortality, or even my own, leads me to conclude that life must therefore be regarded as exceedingly precious or utterly vain.