Positive Life NSW

Lucy
Today I lost my Lucy, my Mooku, my darlin’ girl. I wasn’t ready yet but you never are.

Time had moved too quickly on us.

Fourteen years ago my partner died, 14 years ago his sister sent Lucy into my life. From the day we first met and she knew that here, with me, would be her home, we became inseparable. I went nowhere without her. All she ever wanted was to know where I was and how I was; was I safe, was I happy and “could you feed me please?” For the times she couldn’t come with me, we had our code word, “wait-a-while”. It meant “won’t be long, stay here, I’ll be back, I promise you.” And from that spot she wouldn’t move, not til I was back. So it is that I feel this pain of an endless and unrewarding separation.

Our life together began at the beginning of my own journey of grief and recovery from the loss of my partner, Matthew. She was my light, all the way, guiding me onwards. A year after Mathew’s passing, Lucy and I closed up home, moved our shackles into storage and set off on a trip of a lifetime, driving anywhere and everywhere, just nowhere we’ve been before. Something Matthew and I often did.

Lucy was yet a young and careless loving puppy and needed some watching over. She’d see water and she’d jump on in without any sense of fear. One time it was a swollen, flooding river. I went straight in after her as she floated off backwards downstream; we both nearly lost our lives. Another time, pulling up on the Great Ocean Road for the view from the breathtaking heights of the plunging headlands, she saw the ocean way below and took the fancy and stance to jump on in. “Nooooooooooo!” I screamed at her, “Get in the car! Now!” And then we were outta there. She soon grew to learn to better judge distance and to stay close by my side.

For that year, we lived in the back of our trusty station wagon, the two of us, anywhere we found along the way to pull up for a night or two, or a week or more. One time, sleeping in a forest with the tailgate down, Lucy slipped off for a look around while I slept. I woke up to this thumping noise, a rotten smell and Lucy’s fat ass in my face. She was pulling in a dead kangaroo. She must have thought, “this’ll feed us for awhile”. She was very disappointed that I wouldn’t let her keep it, she was so proud of what she’d found for us.

Along the way we sometimes stopped off with family, other people we knew or people we met who always welcomed us both. They took us in, enjoyed our company and gave us comfort. Lucy learnt to always be well behaved for other people, never to fight with their dogs or chase their cats, and became very good at conning people with a cute look, a friendly smile and a wag of her fat ass. She was more outgoing than me, the first to make friends and to bring other people into our life. I made many good friends through Lucy’s introductions. She was a winner and it got her many privileges denied to other dogs.

That trip instilled in Lucy that every day could bring a new excitement, a new possibility and that is how she lived the rest of her life and encouraged me to do so. In my times of depression, she would find the right balance between laying low for awhile and being undemanding. She would eventually give me the nudge, “C’mon now, time to get out. Let’s go somewhere?” And we would.

And so it is with the passing of Lucy that I return to this place where it all began. Grief. Once it enters our lives, it never seems to leave us – just momentary respite. But it’s a powerful place. It’s all about love and what has been and you grow from all that you’ve experienced in the love. Lucy and I, we did it all. Our life together was complete. I was her master but she was not my slave, she was my tireless friend. I gave her a place of freedom in the world and the same respect I would give to man or woman. She gave me encouragement and the strength to keep moving on: “If you see an open door, go in with a smile, they might give you food!” and I will.

I leave with words no more true than from Lord Byron’s ‘Epitaph to a dog’.

One who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.

Lucy was born in Bundjalung country. Lucy and I featured on the cover of Talkabout 113, February/March (2001), welcoming in the first of many following features about our pets and their meaning in our lives. Lucy also starred as the spirit of Wanja in Ange Abdilla’s short film, Wanja, Spirit of the Block’s Aboriginal Community (2008).

Tim Bishop
www.myspace.com/timjbishop