Old Dogs and Children~

We had a dog for sixteen years. She was so pitiful at the end of her life, it was painful to watch. One day recently she slipped into a nap on the back porch and woke up running after birds in Doggy Heaven (which I am sure exists, please do not tell me any different). My nineteen year old son was the one who called me to tell me she had passed. He was so mature. He did not let me hear his voice break but he said what he had to in short phrases.
"Lucy's gone... Do you want me to bury her"
I told him I would let his daddy know and to wait for him. We had been expecting it. She had not moved for hours and during the night both the boys spent time with her, just sitting, maybe talking but showing their gratitude for a life will spent.
We originally got Lucy to be a companion for the boys. They were three and one at the time. We had water on our property and I thought a dog would watch for snakes and perhaps keep the boys out of trouble. Little did I know our Brittney Spaniel mix loved water, feared snakes and was as clumsy and mischievous as any boy ever thought of being. She did prove to be adventuresome and lived to follow the boys everywhere, often on long hikes in the woods.
The second day we had her I let the oldest walk out in the yard with her. In a minute there was a knock on the front door, when I opened it there he stood holding a sopping wet puppy. Apparently, he had fished her out of the pond.
"The puppy fell in Mommy" was all he said. I was of course mortified I had turned my back for one minute and the delightful little fur ball led my baby TO the water instead of away from it.
The reality of her death hit when I got home, and I saw that same little boy digging a grave behind the play yard. He seemed grown up, so capable of doing the necessary hard stuff required of an adult. He had wrapped her in a blanket so I would not have to see her. Ah, the beauty of a sensitive man.
Shortly, his daddy and brother came home from school. I asked my sweet husband what he told them in the office. He replied, "Told em, just told em my dog died". I heard the same short phrased voice coming from his mouth as his older son.
The three of them finished the grave and gently laid our beloved pet to rest. A piece of slate was driven into the ground with "R. I. P. Lucy" tapped into it. I watched as my men dusted off their hands, father and sons, so much alike in appearance, in speech and in disposition.
Neither of my sons remember life without Lucy. She grew up with them. Her death was an event that will be written in the story of our family, so will the leaving of the next child for college or to find his place in this world. The passing of time is so often bittersweet. We want our children to stand on their own two feet but the joy they have brought us is hard to part with. I believe it was fitting for Lucy to pass before we had to let that first boy go.
She did her job, she helped us raise them, she was a companion, explorer and friend.

Lissy Lou

At first sight, Lissy was a little ragamuffin. She had been loved by another foster family for a few months and seemed to be making progress. At twenty months old she could say a few words but mostly chose not to. She stared with chocolate colored eyes and seemed to be almost vacant of personality. The youngest of her sibling group, her needs paled in comparison to the older, more emotionally needy. There were five other children.
I first met her at the daycare she attended. She and her sister were called to the lobby by their caseworker. I just wanted a peek at them, the decision had already been made to bring them into our home. When I saw them I was even more convinced they were my babies.
It was obvious Lissy had not been walking long. She was the most bow-legged little thing I had ever seen. She had light brown hair, wild and unruly. There was a hardness in her eyes that I knew had come from necessity. All foster children have it. It is the look of "I know you might hurt me, I know I may not stay with you for long, I have already been tossed around, no big deal if you do it too."
The days and weeks that followed were unbelievably difficult. We had what seemed like endless paperwork, phone calls, hoops to jump through. We had so many obstacles that if I had not known I was called by God to go through this, I may have pulled the plug.
But, on January 3, 2007 Lissy came home to live with us. She was quiet and pensive, she had no security blanket, no bottle or pacifier. She did not cry, until bedtime. We tried to make her crib comfortable and safe but she would have no part of it. I tried to rock her. She would fall asleep but when I put her down she would scream within two minutes. I ended up sleeping a few minutes at a time with her on the couch. She would be comforted only while being patted. After three nights I took her to the doctor. We were both near the end of ourselves. Of course, she had a ear infections, yes BOTH ears. I could not believe a seasoned mother as myself did not figure this out before three horrible sleepless nights had gone by. After a round of antibiotics she was fine, slept like a rock from then on.
We chronicled her progress in pictures. One of my adult daughters pointed out when Lissy started to smile. It took some time but gradually she started grinning more and more for the camera. By two and a half she was a ham.
Being a foster parent has not been easy. In fact, sometimes it is like torture you inflict on yourself. Foster parents get a bad rap from the media, everything from Law and Order to Oprah has featured situations where foster parents were no heroes, but overall I believe we do it for the right reasons.
We adopted Lissy and two of her sisters last year. She is six years old. As I write this Lissy has come to me several times asking me questions, pointing out her "sight words" on the computer screen, and wanting me to put her pretty brown hair in pigtails. She is sick today, one of the few times she has been sick since that first week. She has changed so much. She is rarely quiet, she has a ready smile and charms us all. She has asked that I play with her when I'm finished "working". She is bouncing her new kick ball in the kitchen patiently waiting.
This day is worth all the hard stuff we have gone through.
If you have ever considered becoming a foster parent call the Department of Human Resources today. Your Lissy is waiting.