Ode to Lady

Lady-The-Beagle lived next door to Dad's house, and would come by to see me every day while I was visiting from out of town. She was Uncle Gene's dog. Not the cutest Beagle, with her slightly bulged eyes and portly figure, but sweet and friendly and just happy to make your acquaintance.

When Gene died of cancer, Lady disappeared. We assumed his kids came and got her.

Wrong.

When Dad and I went next door to get some small tool from Gene's garage, we found she had been locked in that garage for over a week. No food, no water.

That's how Lady came to live in Las Vegas. I washed her and took her to see Dr. Haines and drove her 2000 miles to live in my back yard.

Lady was deathly afraid of fireworks (and gunshots) and would wedge herself, a la Winnie The Pooh, in the Yorkie's doggie door if I didn't let her in the kitchen to hide every first week of July.

When we moved back to the country 2 years later, Lady came back with us again. Not having been raised as an indoor dog, we couldn't keep her with us at our temporary lodging while our house was being built, so Dad said she'd be best off at his house, where she grew up and roamed freely for years without incident. To live on that country road for 10 years, free to roam, and live to tell the tale is an impressive accomplishment.

The homely little country Beagle lived to be over 12 years old, and was laid to rest by Dr. Haines on August 4, 2007. Dr. Haines said Lady had an enlarged heart, and her chest cavity had begun to fill with fluid. Lady had a horrible hacking cough in the last months of her life.

She was a good girl. She was good with my kids when they were babies, and even in her later years, when she was old and crabby, she only growled to let you know she was annoyed--she never bit anyone.

Goodbye, Old Friend.