Remembering Lucky…


Death is not a pleasant subject. Grief is a place best not visited.  However it is in death and grief that we are changed irrevocably.  Losing a  loved one is difficult.  Losing a pet is just as puissant yet that loss is often deemed less significant.

Today marks a year and a day that our dog Lucky physically left our lives.   Two years ago, he was diagnosed with cancer.  The vet looked at my husband in sadness and offered to end his suffering.  My husband, gem that he is, paid him and brought our smiling child back home.   December was particularly poignant, every occasion was celebrated and made more memorable than the previous.  Every day was a brand new gift.  Summer days were long and Lucky was over indulged. In fact, he so loved fishing that we took him away for a seaside getaway. We packed the cars and his favourite blanket, made a pot of his favoured chicken breyani and headed north to his favourite fishing spot.   Lucky knew he was off on an adventure. The husband headed off to fish. Mother and children went for a long walk which was punctuated by many short breaks, simply because Lucky grew increasingly tired.  Bottled water was sourced from the local shop for Lucky.  We laughed but we knew that the clock ticked ominously. Death would visit soon.  Life, as we knew it, resumed.  The children returned to school and Lucky, their protector and friend was at home to welcome them.  Our return from work was met with smiling eyes and a happy wagging tail.  Weeks progressed into months and Lucky’s naturally kohl lined eyes dimmed as the cancer thrived.  We could be selfish no longer.  A decision was made.  Death was no newcomer to our family. This time though, every breath cut at us.  This time, it was not a trip to the beach.  He settled into his seat and left with his Dad and brother.   Those last moments will never be forgotten.  The vet was a good man, a kind person who understood the enormity of the situation. He chanted a mantra as Lucky’s breathing slowly stopped.    The boys came home without their boy.  I still listened for the click of Lucky’s feet on the kitchen tiles  which was not heard.  There were no words except for an projectile outpouring of sorrow.  Death had come. 

Euthanasia, they say.  “Death”, my heart screamed, due to my decision, a mother’s  decision.   His suffering had ended but our suffering with him in his months of sickness and after, continued.   Cancer had won.  Again.  My Dad.  My Aunt.  Another Aunt,  more a mother than Aunt.    The days were long, dark and empty.  This year’s Deepawali did not bring the Festival of Lights into our home.   Darkness and despair reigned.  Pitar Paksh, the annual prayer which paid homage to our ancestors reminded us again of death anew.   Owen returned home to be alone.  I left a bowl of water out for Lucky daily.  At night, the garden light remained on, Lucky did not like being in the dark. Once, as I was busy  in the kitchen, I watched the husband leave Lucky’s bowl of water out for him.  A couple of week’s later, I mentioned to the husband that Lucky did not find his way home.  We wondered whether he was lost without our love and guidance or if his mother Chelsea, had found him and taken him with her.

Chelsea was a russet mix Labrador special, who was brought home to us when she was 6 weeks old. She stole our hearts and grew into a beautiful girl.  The husband took her for a walk once.  I thought Chelsea had become plump with happiness and good loving but no, her one jaunt changed her life.  My husband knew had transpired and opted to lie by omission.  He watched Chelsea welcome babies as beautiful as she was. All nine survived and all but one, were given to loving homes.   Chelsea had her son Lucky for company and we had love and laughter.  Of course, the garden took a beating, plants were uprooted and the grass was peppered with droppings.  For a long time, it was impossible to have and maintain a vegetable patch but the dogs made up for that loss.  Both mother and son used to watch the oven door with anticipation.  A large pot on the stove signalled breyani for supper. Unlike some other Hindu households, my Diwali Days were spent in the kitchen, away from the fireworks, displays and finery.   In keeping with Hindu tradition, the humans abstained from eating meat.  The four legged children were fed previously prepared meaty meals, much to Owen’s dismay.  Birthdays heralded cakes and more breyani.  Christmas meant an entire serving of a turkey leg.    The worst days were the baths they were forced to endure.  The best days were braai days, which used to be common in the Ramlal house. Once the braai stand was extracted, both were on high alert, tails wagged happily.  They lay with bowed heads but their eyes searched for family and the meaty titbits that followed.  It was a ritual , even the cockatiels were brought out to share the moments.   It was a good life.  Mom said that she wanted to be born in my house….as a dog in her next life.  Old Chelsea had her moments of feigning sickness and indifference.  Often she would lay down until I hand-fed her.  One day, she was too tired to wait for my arrival from work, she lay her head down and did not wake up.  She was laid to rest in our garden where she had a view of the entire property.   Lucky howled in sadness, he had lost his mother and best friend.  Often we found him sitting next to her flowers. When he feared a rebuke, he would return to her.  He missed his Mom. It did not help that we were away at work and at school. He had separation anxiety and he howled mournfully when we left home.

I always maintained that Chelsea was the best mother in the world.  She sat with her legs crossed, had impeccable manners and she instilled them and her good habits in her son.  She looked after my family passionately and diligently. The same was expected of me for her son.  I kept my word, right until the end. I hope that Chelsea understands that I did my best.   Grief, they says is really just love, one wants to give, but cannot.  It is unspent love that gathers in the choking of the chest, and in the corners for one’s eyes.  It is the lump in the throat. Grief is just love with no place to go. 

A year later, the lump still sticks in the throat. Time has passed, it has not entirely healed. Memories have been banked and sometimes, they are lovingly taken out and shared. Most times, they are returned to the pockets of the hearts for refuge.  

Some days are more difficult and sometimes, the therapeutic effect of simply putting words into sentences helps. 

Many people think that pets are just pets. I beg to differ. They are the silent children and often our best friends.  They are family.   Loved. Lost. Never forgotten.


Lucky at Umdloti.

Wave watching.

27 thoughts on “Remembering Lucky…

  1. Pets are like our children. I lost my beloved Boomer on Christmas Day and it took me 8 months to even be able to talk about him. I still haven’t been able to remove his picture from my Facebook page and I have 2 other dogs. He was my first dog and nothing will ever replace him. His ashes sit in front of me everyday. I thank heaven I was blessed with such a wonderful gift for almost 11 years. ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I thank you for this post and allowing me to once again post about my Boomer.


    • It is in sharing that like minded people are able to heal.
      My pets are my babies. What I did not say there is that, in Mid November, just 2 weeks before my birthday, my husband and son rescued a kitten from certain death. He was skittish and ran away but returned a day later. All his habits are those of Lucky’s. I swear he thinks that he is a dog. He never leaves my side. I’m blessed again.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I love hearing that. I was blessed with a puppy a week before Boomer died never expecting him to go. It took me a while to realize she was sent to help me get through the loss of him.

        Liked by 1 person

    • What a beautiful tribute to a beloved member of the family.
      My canine child is 17 now, slow moving, clouded eyes, and too long nails tap the floors.
      He abhors the vet, baths, and toenail cutting. He sleeps at the side of the bed during the day and behind my head on a large soft pillow at night.
      I lost my beloved husband of 35 years to the ravages of the pandemic. I cannot bear the thought of death once more creeping in to steal my beloved pup as well.
      Thank you for the truly touching piece.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Dear Althaea
        My apologies for not responding earlier.
        I have not been in the best space. On the 19th of April, I lost my darling kitty. He was a brave little boy who although nervous of the big world, ventured out to meet his friends. He left me on Saturday night at 11, he had been sitting next to me most of the day. The next morning, the neighbour’s gardener found him and told us. Someone had hit him and ran. When the gardener said grey, I wanted to howl in pain but I was stoic. Every moment since then my heart and mind has been at odd and I howl in pain. Im crying now as I speak to you.
        My little Jag was found dumped, we saved him from certain death.. He slept in my arms and I carried him during the day on my chest. At night he slept with me. He called me “mom” and he was the best boy in my entire family.
        I hear what you say. That call, is the call, I dread most.
        This death has taken so much from me, so, so many people, I feel bereft thinking about it.
        My heart goes out to you, I can only imagine how you must feel.
        I am married for 30 years now and I pray daily for our safety and good health.
        I cant tell you not to worry.
        I will tell you to hold onto your child and love him, and love him best, as only you can.
        Enjoy every moment with him.
        Remember to look after yourself, if there is no you, there is no love for him.
        I say that nowadays to myself as I have two kitties who are terminally ill.
        Big, big hugs to you.


      • I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the ache you feel. I can only wish you sweet furry child continues to bring you some solace in this dark time. Sending so much love and prayers to you. 💕🙏💕

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m so sorry about Lucky, and Chelsea too. Pets are family, and their loss brings so much grief. I could relate to this post so well because my beloved Lucy is going to be 16 next month. She’s still in good health, but we know she won’t be with us much longer.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute to Lucky. He was definitely one of your children and by the sounds of it felt the love as much as you did. It is so unpleasant to watch any loved one succumb to cancer – as our Violet is in her own battle, we watch helplessly and will know, as you did, when the time is right. But she will never leave our hearts. Please know that Lucky knew how much he was loved.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Lucky was a lucky dog be a member of your family. I teared up reading about him and his last days. I lost my chocolate lab, Muddy in summer of 2016. I found him as a puppy on a dark and cold parking lot at the hospital where I worked. He made it to about 10 years of age. Cancer of the breast bone took him in 4 weeks. I still think of my handsome boy and what a sweet dog he was. I have his buddy, Molly also a found puppy that has been dumped at the apartment complex near me. She has not been the same happy dog since her pal died. I have a pack of dogs but she no longer wants to play or to explore the fenced acre that surrounds my house.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh Val… He was such a handsome boy, a gentle soul with manners and loving kohl lined eyes. God has been good to me in my furry babies. They compensated so much for the shortcomings in humans.
      I have 3 kitties now…all found their way to us at different painful stages, all God given strays, all ours.
      Thank you for reading on my boy. It such a good boost for my mind, this reminder how “Lucky” and blessed I am. I send a hug to you. Kavita

      Liked by 1 person

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