RIP Lex

I’ve always wondered how the sun can continue to shine, birds and crickets sing, and people go on about their business when we feel the sting of the death of a loved one.  Our chocolate lab, Lexington, isn’t lazing on the cool porch beside us as we have coffee this morning.

Our oldest son, Calen, asked in the summer of 2008 if he could rescue a young puppy whose family had a new baby and couldn’t keep the pup anymore.  He asked our permission because there was talk of him shipping off to Iraq with the Army Reserves, and we all knew who would really have puppy duty.  He was her rescuer and she adored him.  The rest of us were okay, and loved by this rambunctious bundle, but those two had a bond.

Lex had what we think was a storybook life.  She was a country dog and had free reign of the outdoors and the house. She chased rabbits and squirrels and snoozed on the back porch with one eye open in case something out of the ordinary was waiting to happen.  When she would go crazy barking and we didn’t know what it was, Jim said, “Perpetrators unknown!” 

She had two beds; one on the porch and one in the house. When she wanted to get some serious sleep, Lex would head to our quiet bedroom and get on her other bed. This was often first thing in the morning, after a night of keeping a pack of coyotes at bay.  She would come in exhausted, and preferred sleeping the morning away, then go next door to boss Yadi or on down the road to play with Frosty.  On her road trips, she would stop on the side of the road and wait for vehicles to pass.  Lex had too much class to chase cars and try to bite tires!

She was an alpha female, large at 90+ pounds, in charge, and fearless. Frosty was a sweet little male shih-tzu and they would play and hang out in his yard for lov’n and treats.  His family spoiled her so much, that if we didn’t see her all day, we would go down and bring her back in the car.  We finally stopped searching and transporting her home after a while, because Frosty’s family said she was fine down there, and they loved her too.  Her relationship with Yadi was a love/hate one, it seemed.  Yadi was a female yellow lab who became our neighbor when she was a puppy.  Lex took over role of mentor, teaching her the ins and outs of country life.  Yadi would come into our yard and they would happily greet each other, if none of Lexie’s people weren’t outside.  Let one of us be outside, and Lex made Yadi stay outside some invisible perimeter she had previously designated.  Yadi would hunker down and roll on her back, allowing Lex all the glory.  Poor Yadi.  I felt bad for her, so we would have to go to her to give her attention, and Lex did not care for that at all, blaming Yadi for any attention we tried to give her, it seemed.

I said she didn’t chase cars, but she did race our cars.  And I mean RACED. When she was still young, Lex began walking to the end of our long driveway and waiting for Jim to turn onto  the road to go to work.  She would run in the grass, beside his truck, almost down to Frosty’s house.  He liked to gun it, and she would run like a racehorse, beside him as long as she could, smiling the entire way.  If she was around, she would repeat the race with the rest of us as we left for work or school.

While Calen and Jim were innate dog lovers, Wyatt and I weren’t.  We’d had several outside dogs over the years, but this one stole our hearts.  She became Wyatt’s alarm clock on days he didn’t have to get up early, or greet him at the door when he came in late.  I think he came to appreciate that she was as mellow as he was.  She was mellow for a lab, well-behaved, and incredibly intelligent.  We marveled at this beautiful chocolate being who didn’t slobber like labs usually do, and didn’t want to swim on command.  She would only fetch her hedgehog three times and was DONE.  She was stubborn.  If she didn’t want to do something, she held her ground, and was big enough to get her way.  We only owned a leash in those early years, to make an annual visit to the vet.

Lex didn’t tolerate other dogs.  She just didn’t like them.  She was the boss and wanted to teach them to be submissive to her.  She liked people, and would announce their arrival to us and wait to see how we responded to them, to see if they really were okay.  Our friend Guylene is a dog-whisperer and was Lex’s favorite person outside our family.  We took Lex on vacation to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan a couple years, but mostly, Guylene puppy sat.   Lex loved riding in the car on vacation and loved being with her people, but we didn’t like having to keep her leashed or inside up there all week.  She loved her freedom and it was sad for us to do that for such an extended time.  So she would even tolerate Guy’s dogs just to have Guylene’s attention when we would leave for the week.

Lex was a very vocal dog.  She announced people’s arrival, she let us know when she wanted to eat, go out, get a treat, or go for a walk.  As we would get her food, she would begin howling at us and we would all join in until it was served. Calen could call her up when the rest of us couldn’t.  He would go out and give his special whistle and wherever she was, she would come in high gear to greet him and “talk” to him.  He eventually went to Iraq and then moved to Minnesota.  Her home was the country, and we all agreed she needed to stay.  Everytime he came home to visit, he would whistle her up and it was heartwarming to see them greet each other.  He whistled one last time and told her he loved her yesterday, on FaceTime.

Some of her favorite days were walking and hiking.  She, Jim, and I hiked occasionally, but she and Jim became each other’s purpose.  Every day it wasn’t raining or he wasn’t hiking with his hiking partner or group, he took her on the Tunnel Hill Bike Trail and they would walk about three miles, then go to the local museum and feed the cats.  He would hook her to a signpost so she wouldn’t go after those pesky cats.  It was her ritual and she loved it.

That’s how we knew she was ill.  The last couple of months, she began stopping on the walks and turning around after a fourth a mile or so.  She was treated for one medical thing after another and we kept watching for improvement.  It always came, until she stopped eating almost a week ago.  She was diagnosed with possible liver cancer, and we tried to make her comfortable, while praying and holding out hope it really wasn’t.  When she became worse two nights ago, we woke up yesterday knowing what we needed to do.

We talked to her and loved on her and prayed for her most of the morning, then took her for one last truck ride. We’d never experienced what was about to take place, so the clinic sympathetically filled us in.  She and Daddy were buddies, living at the country house, so I asked my mom and dad to meet her as she left us.  It was peaceful, but oh so heartbreaking.  When we got back home with her, my sister and brother-in-law met us at the house to help dig her grave.  Just like it was meant to be, we decided to put her in the flowerbed where she kept digging up flowers I’d replant.  She had again dug part of the hole, right next to a horseshoe cross our neighbor had made. We placed her there with her favorite toy, up against the front of the house, right on the other side of the wall that was her inside bed.

The house is too quiet and Jim and I are all cried out.  It seems we have nothing left to say to each other.  Last night I texted pictures of her to our sons and Jim.  None of us can say it any better than Jim texted back: “I will see Lex at a time when we are all together . . . Love you Lex.  Will see you on the other side. Love you!”