My first child didn't come from inside me. She came from a dog rescue, but I loved her like my baby, because she is, was, and always will be my baby. Her name was Lucy, and (with all due respect to everyone's dog out there) she was the best dog on the planet.Her unconditional love and sweetness uncorked in me the same capacity for loving another living thing with no strings attached. It was through my relationship with her that I realized I could be a mother, and a good mom at that. Much to my husband's dismay, I confess that I had our first child E for her. "Look at how good she is with little kids," I told him, "if we're going to have children, I want to do it before she's too old."
My time with Lucy ended this morning. She was thirteen, and it was her time to go. But knowing that doesn't make her absence any less bitter; it doesn't fill the Rottweiler-shaped hole in my heart.
For now, I'm filling that void with the outpouring of love I've received from friends and family who have heard the news. I can tell that she brought joy to everyone she met, and that does make her absence just the slightest bit more bearable.
Thanks to all who have given your sympathies and shed a tear for my beloved Tiny Princess. I'm trying my best to smile instead of cry when I think of her; I hope you'll do the same. I know it's how she would want to be remembered.
