Dear Lucas

Oh, my dear Lucas.

We missed your anniversary.

 

In the hustle of the last few weeks, we bypassed celebrating our seventh (!!) anniversary of having you in our lives. Sorry about that, buddy. But I’ll make it up to you today (after your wound check at the vet… sorry about that, too).

When I write these anniversary letters, I find myself reminiscing about the highest highs and the lowest lows. But the reality is that it’s the everyday, the mundane, routine pieces of our life together that make me grateful that we were entrusted with your care.

Entrusted with your care.

That’s what we call it with you because you are so amazing and special that we feel like we were picked to be your caretakers. Over the last seven years, John and I have both cried many, many times over you – your intense fear, the way you’d shut down in your own home because the TV came on, the two times you tried to bite a stranger, the way that Emmett was the only one who could get you out of your shell-shock in those early days. And then we cried over your victories. I’ve never been more proud than when, in Reactive Rover, a classmate said, “You would never know that he’s a reactive dog.” I’m telling you, buddy, I burst!

 

You are full of contradictions: You love doggy daycare and puppies and babies. You love to go for walks more than any dog I’ve ever known, but you can’t handle encountering other dogs – and some strangers – when we’re out walking. Thunder, diesel engines, and the doorbell send you into a spiral of panicked barking and lunging, but you have learned all on your own to excuse yourself to your quiet spot when the vacuum comes out or when we have company over.

Despite all your fears, you have such a playful spirit! You spend lovely afternoons throwing a stick for yourself in the yard when your brothers won’t play. You pick up a stick, leap in the air, whip your head and let go of the stick, only to sprint after it and do the whole thing again. It’s sweet and hilarious and never fails to reel Cooper in for a good game of tug-and-chase.

At night, you climb up next to me on the couch, twirl around a few times, then settle in with your paw placed gently on my knee. It happens almost every night, but it never fails to make me smile.

And in those everyday, mundane moments I’m reminded just how grateful I am that we were chosen to help you navigate the world.

You are my angel, my big yellow dog.

I love you. Happy anniversary, Lucas!