We called her “goose,” (short for “silly goose”), “Ms. Priss” (because she was), and “dumbass.”  She didn’t care.  She knew she was loved.  They were pet names, after all.  Literally … pet names.  Her name at the vet’s was “Lacey,” and we called her that more than her pet names.  She wagged her tail to whatever we called her, because that’s the way she was, and she knew love when she heard it.

Lacey is now buried near a fig tree in the back yard.  She had a good ride for more than 14 years, and was my youngest son’s entertainment, partner in crime, confidant, and quiet listener when he needed her to be during some challenging times for him when his mom and I separated and then divorced.  I “adopted” her just over ten years ago, and he moved in with me six.  We made for an interesting team.

Buried with her is a dog treat (she never turned those down and would go to great lengths to find them, even though she was mostly blind for the last half of her life), a toy that she loved to play tug of war with before her neck injury and major surgery, and her collar that we got for her after her surgery so she wouldn’t ever have direct pressure on her neck. She rests under a fig tree that she loved to nibble the leaves off of.  Now, she and the tree will become one.

Lacey had to be put down.  I pet her head and back as the injections were given.  She exhaled.  That was it.  She never gave the vet trouble; she saved trouble for home. Kids are that way.  Even 100-year olds.

My sons and I have a tradition of sharing cigars on the deck when momentous or important things happen.  Lacey’s passing was both, so my youngest and I had cigars, chianti and conversation late last night.  Lacey’s spot was nearby.  We talked about her, and about life, which we do a lot.  Lacey’s life and death had gotten us both to thinking a lot about life and death … and loss … and we compared notes between puffs.

Life includes loss.  Always has.  Always will.  And that sucks.

Lacey had survived many near-death experiences.  Her liver had been a mess for years.  Meds and a hearty spirit kept her going, and her attitude never faltered.  Visits to emergency rooms, major neck surgery, and regular visits to the vet to keep on top of her conditions never phased her.  She was our Eveready Bunny, never stopping.

She had had six seizures in 20 hours and that started the ball rolling downhill for her.  The seizures stopped, but not the decline.  She didn’t ever seem to be in pain, but she couldn’t do much more than lay around and struggle onto her feet occasionally to go to the bathroom or to find my son or me.

My son and I discussed aging, decline and death while on the deck.  A lot of people we know have fallen to that process and it has our attention.  He observed that the reality of everyone’s future had really struck him; I shared that I had written the same in my journal hours before.  As he said, there are a lot of factors now that give us a different perspective on the passing of the last 14 years, and the passing of Lacey.  A lot has happened in our lives since the year 1 AL (After Lacey).

For me, a major factor is the reality that I’m not getting any younger either.  The sense of immortality that keeps reality at bay during one’s younger years has long since disappeared.  I’m in the middle ground, no longer feeling immortal, but not feeling doomed either.  But, there is much less time in front of me than there has been behind me.  He knows it, too.

It all boils down to attitude.  Lacey had a great attitude, even when it got her into mischief.  Lacey was a good patient for those who cared for her.  Lacey’s spirt was strong, even when she wasn’t.  Lacey was mortal, and I am convinced that the last day or so of her life, she understood that reality completely.

As she and I sat in the vet’s office, she laying across my lap for ear scratching and back petting, I leaned over and said, “Thank you for having been so good to my boy all these years.”  She sighed.  Ten minutes later, I placed her on the table for her last sigh.

Her life taught many lessons, and her passing revealed more.  Keep a good attitude.  Get into mischief. Be a good patient to those who love and care for you.  Be a good listener.  Keep a strong spirit even when the body has little strength. Be good to, and for, others.

RIP Lacey.