Heaven Sent

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Dog

By Kathleen Lumbert

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
~Ben Williams

When my friend Louise showed up at my door, her hands firmly planted on her ample hips, she let me know in no uncertain terms that my hermit days were over, at least for a weekend.

In a tone that left no room for objection, she said she would be picking me up next Saturday morning, nine o'clock sharp, and informed me I would be joining her in house-sitting for her boss, making it quite clear that she'd take care of the house and the dog, a Dalmatian named Lucy. All I would be required to do was accompany her and swim, relax, and enjoy the beautiful scenery as I saw fit.

I wanted to refuse Louise's generous offer, desperately. I felt safe in my seclusion, and didn't want to put myself at risk yet. I still felt too fragile after what I'd been through the past eighteen months. My husband had left me and my two elementary school-aged daughters to fend for ourselves, and I had been raped which left me pregnant. The resulting baby had to be given up for adoption because of my poverty. My grief seemed to have no end.

Yet the following Saturday morning, there was Louise, true to her word, ready to pick me up and take me away. We drove northward through the city until we were finally winding among trees, creeks, and curvy roads. We stopped in front of a rambling ranch house on a graciously landscaped, slightly sloped lot. Walking through the front door, we stepped into a large entryway, down a few stairs, and into a great room. I don't remember much else about the house after that, because we'd reached the backyard, and I was enthralled by the beautiful quiet lagoon that had been created around the swimming pool. Outlined with natural rock formations, fresh, clean water from the hidden filtration system softly cascaded back into the pool. Shrubbery and flowers poked out of the rocks with palms and large ferns behind them. A tall wall in back of the foliage gave the pool privacy, and I easily imagined myself being alone on a deserted island. I wanted to cry; I felt that I didn't deserve to be in such beauty.

Suddenly, I felt a wet, persistent, sponge-like sensation in my hand. Looking to see what it was, I was startled to see a very young Dalmatian peering up at me; her paws were much too big for her to be full grown, and her left eye was framed by one of the many black spots that punctuated her white coat. "This must be Lucy," I thought anxiously, and I stepped back, my reaction sparked by my fear of dogs I didn't know. Laughing at me politely, Louise showed me upstairs where I could put my luggage, and much to my astonishment, Lucy padded close behind. For some reason she was keen on knowing me, but I tried to ignore her. I wasn't interested in expending any energy on cheerfulness.

After Louise prepared an early dinner, we donned our bathing suits and headed for the pool. Lucy stayed at the edge until we got out, and as I lowered my body onto the towel to dry off, she immediately started nuzzling my hair. "What do you want, you silly dog?" I said, petting her. Lucy's wagging tail moved faster and she stooped to her elbows and barked, jumping up as she continued to shake her tail. I realized, to my surprise, that I was enjoying her fun sweet nature.

The rest of the weekend, Lucy would not leave me alone. She ran circles around me, seeming to sense my sadness, determined to make me smile with her silly antics. Finally, late Sunday, I couldn't take it anymore, and as Lucy pushed my hair off my back to nuzzle my neck, I started giggling; first a little hiccup, then gradually building up to a good guffaw. Rolling over, grabbing my belly, I tried to stifle the side-splitting hoorahs. Lucy, apparently delighted at the effect she'd had on me, started barking to my laughter. Sitting up, I pulled Lucy into my arms and just hugged her. Licking my face, she took the embrace as long as I wanted to give it.

It was the first time I'd been happy — truly happy — since my losses. I looked heavenward and thanked God for this beautiful animal and her ability to bring me out of the dark squalor of my sadness.

Twenty years later, I can still picture every one of Lucy's spots, her blue eyes, and the one black ear which was always angled backward. I'm pretty sure Lucy is no longer here with us, but I'm certain that among all the relatives and friends that will greet me someday in Heaven, Lucy will be right there, once more barking along with my laughter.

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