I love telling stories. Life comes alive through tall tales and short stories that each of us live. Almost every moment we spend on this earth has something worth sharing.
My favorite stories are the ones that carry a message. That’s why I rely on personal experiences to tell my tales. I once tried my hand at writing fiction, but it felt forced. My muse comes through real life.
Fortunately, I’ve failed more times than I’ve succeeded, which adds a little purity to my prose. I often feel people respond more openly to reading about what not to do. To the benefit of my readers, that’s a subject I’ve become quite skilled in.
I write about everything from my wife, kids, parents, in-laws, friends and my dog, Ollie, the giant newfypoo. But I’ve never mentioned Lucy, the “bestest” girl of them all.
Lucy is our little lab who flies under the radar. She walks in Ollie’s giant shadow and wouldn’t have it any other way. With no need for recognition, Lucy is content just being where she is – usually in my lounge chair, nuzzled up behind me as I write these columns.
We brought Lucy into our home about a year after we got her brother, Finn. They were two chocolate lab mixes from the same mother but different litters. I remember coming home from work one afternoon and seeing a tiny brown puppy getting a bath in our kitchen sink. My wife, Shannon, and our daughter, Reagan, quickly turned to me, and Shannon blurted out, “Don’t be mad.”
Mad was an understatement. I felt one dog was already enough. I remember walking past the sink full of bubbles and demanding the puppy go back where she came from. Lucy’s tiny brown head, covered in soap suds, held two adorable brown eyes that seemed to say, “He’s going to lose this standoff.” And lose I did.
Life moved forward, and Lucy quickly became part of it. She adored her brother Finn, nipping at his feet and barking orders he ignored. Lucy had found her home. The only challenge was that she couldn’t be trusted to roam the house when we weren’t around, so we chose to crate train her.
I’m no fan of keeping a dog in a crate, but at the time, she left us no choice. She was a slow learner for house training, and we couldn’t find a way to quickly change that. Then, one evening several months later, tragedy struck, and change found Lucy instead. Finn was hit by a car on New Year’s Eve after breaking through the fence and running from the sound of fireworks. Both dogs were outside, yet Lucy chose to stay put.
Life moved forward again, but this time it was very different for us and Lucy. We couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone – or spending each day in a crate while we were away. It was time for her to shine.
We began by limiting her access to certain parts of the house while we were gone. She patiently waited for us to come home and spend most of her days snuggled in the lounge chair. It was her job to be a good girl, and Lucy answered the call. She also helped mend our hearts after losing Finn. It’s funny how some of the largest jobs are intended for the smallest of creatures.
I think Lucy’s path was meant for a special dog like her, but, like us, some lessons can’t be learned until the right time. She needed to come into her own, and we had to learn how to let her. Training a dog is much like teaching a child – everyone learns differently and in their own time. To presume otherwise is foolish.
I always joke that once you have two dogs, you’ll always have two dogs. If you lose one, you feel the need to replace it for the other dog’s sake. It becomes a cycle of empathy, filled with shed hair, smudges on glass doors and a reciprocation of love like no other.
Lucy now has a different brother, Ollie, a 140-pound newfypoo who loves her dearly. He garners most of the attention in public, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She nips at his feet and barks orders he ignores, all while he steals the title of “untrusted pup.”
Lucy requires very little from life, as it should be. She never misses a nap and is shamelessly food-motivated – but who isn’t? She may walk in the shadow of her show-stopping brother, but she will always remain the “bestest” girl of them all.
Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].
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