Mr. Lucky
A Gift from Heaven
Nov. 1996 – Dec. 23, 2009

There will never be another Mr. Lucky, and as long as I live, I will never forget his sweetness or unfailing loyalty to me. He knew me so well. I truly believe that for every day of the 12½ years we shared together, his heart was beating just for me. I say this because every vet who ever examined him could not understand how he continued to function so normally, and for so long, with a grade-4 murmur. But Mr. Lucky was no stranger to challenges, and he was a dog with a very old soul.

Born in November of 1996, he was surrendered to a New Hampshire humane society once it was discovered that he had a serious heart problem. The shelter tried to adopt him out, but each time he was brought back. No one wanted to pay for his operation. Through an odd coincidence, I was at the shelter on the afternoon before he was to be put to sleep. I noticed the adorable 6-month-old pup bouncing up and down in his kennel like he was on a pogo stick. Shelter employees had gathered around his kennel and were saying their goodbyes to him, many of them wiping away tears. When I asked why they were weeping, they said because the pup was going to be put to sleep.

As it turned out, I had been organizing an antiques auction to benefit the shelter. I knew we would make at least $15,000 and said, “Let’s use some of the money to get his heart fixed.” The shelter’s executive director, my great friend Michael Philbrook, took the risk and said, “OK, let’s do it.” Mr. Lucky was taken to Tufts Veterinary College in Boston, where a valvuloplasty was performed. He came through with flying colors and was home within 24 hours. Then came the phone call that changed everything – would I be willing to foster him during his recovery? The rest of the story might sound familiar to many who are involved in dog rescue. Mr. Lucky came home with me and never left. For the next 12½ years he was my closest companion and dearest friend. He truly was the perfect dog. He had no bad habits whatsoever, but he did have health problems, including chronic colitis, which we finally managed to control in the last two years of his life.

During his life, Mr. Lucky lived in so many scenic places, from a house on an island in the middle of Lake Winnepesaukee to an 18th-century stone farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania. Wherever we went, he always loved looking out the front window and barking at the passing deer or dogs being walked, or just napping contentedly on his dog bed in my office. But what he loved best was our semiannual vacations at the beach in North Carolina. There, from the third-floor deck overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, he and his canine buddy Jackson experienced the good life. They’d spend their days sunning themselves, watching for passing shrimp boats and barking at seagulls overhead, and hanging out with their people pals till well after sundown. I treasure the funny picture of Mr. Lucky at the beach house, so totally relaxed on the sofa with his feet up in the air. Nothing created more excitement during a vacation than the words “Want to go for a walk on the beach?” Those moments are priceless to me and forever etched in my memory, as is the beautiful little boy I miss so much, every moment of every day.

I try to pretend you are still here with me, Mr. Lucky, that you are just in another room sleeping peacefully and that you’ll be waiting for me with your face so alert, your tail wagging with a thump-thump-thump as I walk through the door. I will never be able to fully accept that you have moved on to another place, another time.

I know there is a Heaven and that any dog with a heart as pure and loving as yours would be welcomed with open arms there. So rest easy, my little “black and tan soul man.” Enjoy roaming the fields of flowers, with the sunshine on your back and in the company of your siblings who left this earth before you. And be patient, for someday we’ll be reunited – never again to part.