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| SNOWSHOEING |
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| AT THE BEACH |
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| MAPLE SUGARIN' |
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| AT HOME BY THE FIRE |
Thursday, 7:00 AM. 24.5 degrees, wind W, light. The sky is overcast and there is some fog over the channel. There is a heavy dusting of fresh wet snow that looks like it will stay for a while. The barometer predicts partly cloudy skies.
Yesterday was a very sad day for us as we finally had to put our old pal Lucky down. He had grown increasingly senile since his three day entrapment under the bridge, and had become almost completely incontinent. Add to that the fact he could see or hear little and could barely get around, and he hardly had a life anymore. So we did the right thing.
Lucky lived 14 years, a ripe old age for a dog. He was truly lucky, as he was rescued from what would have undoubtedly been a less than satisfactory or even a miserable life, and shortly before the end he was rescued from a certain and awful death by drowning or exposure (thank you again, Mike). He went hunting, fishing and hiking, walked the beach, and traveled to far away places. He was well cared for and loved by ourselves, family members and friends. It was only the last year that he began to suffer the inevitable debilities of old age, and it was time to go, and I think he knew it. He died peacefully with us at his side, we gave him a secure and appropriate resting place a few steps from the summer campfire at the Larsen farm, and if such things are possible he can join us in spirit as long as we and our friends still gather around its smoking embers.
And as Joan tearfully proclaimed, “if dogs can go to heaven, Lucky is there, because he was a really good dog.” And we were lucky to have him.
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