Introducing the amazing tales of Lucy

For those of you I’ve never met before, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucy Cavalier. I’m a 14-year-old beagle mix and I’m dying, or at least that’s what my mommy thinks. The thing is, I’m not your average dog. I’ve beat the odds pretty much my entire life.

I’ve lived in New York and Virginia, and I once took a brief trip to Long Island where I picked up a tick. Those Long Island ticks are the worst. I’m lucky I didn’t get the Lyme disease. I’ve been to Central Park in NYC where I saw Ziggy Marley and the Wailers, and I got to ride the subway. I’ve been bitten by other dogs twice, and bitten a small toddler myself (it’s a long story). I’ve almost died once and lived to tell the tale. My mommy always tells me I’ve led a more interesting life than some people, so before my final bow, I figured I’d better start taking down my memoirs. So here it goes…the amazing tales of Lucy.

Speaking of tails, did I ever tell you about the time my mother chopped off the white fur on the tip of my tail? It was eight years ago, and once again, I had her fooled her into thinking I was dying. When I was about six-years-old, my immune system attacked my red blood cells. The technical term for the disease I contracted is autoimmune hemolytic anemia. Here’s a helpful website about another doggie who wasn’t so lucky and died from AHA < http://www.cloudnet.com/~jdickson/>.

My mommy knew something was wrong with me when I didn’t want to play with my toys or my other doggy pals. I was so sick I didn’t even have an appetite for treats, and I lost all the pink coloring in my tongue and under my ears. Things were looking pretty grim for me when I was diagnosed with autoimmune hemolytic anemia. I was given a 50 percent chance of survival.

For a week, I stayed in a cage at the veterinarian's (I HATE cages, but was too weak to object). I was given five pills, three times a day, and a few blood transfusions. My mommy would come visit me everyday, and she would cry and cry, and try to smuggle me in real food to encourage me to take my medicines. I wanted to live, but not if I was going to spend the rest of my days in a cage. After five days, the veterinarian called my mommy and told her to pick me up. They said I wasn’t going to get better, and my red blood cell count would continue to drop until I just fell asleep and didn’t wake up.

They obviously had never met a dog like me before! Little did they know, this death stunt was actually just a ploy to get my mother to love and appreciate me more. And boy did it work like a charm. When I got home, my mommy waited on me hand and foot. She fed me bacon, liver and even cat food, all things which she never let me have before. She carried me everywhere, since I was still very weak from a lack of blood cells. That weekend, my mommy took me to see all my people and doggy friends to say goodbye.

I know it was hard for her to understand how the doggy she loved so much could be dying after only six years together. She stood vigil over me that entire weekend, hoping each breath would not be my last. She lit a candle and kept it burning. And finally, when she thought all hope was lost, she cut off the tip of my tail. You see, she wasn’t going to be able to afford to have me cremated, and so she figured this was the best way to have something to remember me by.

When the weekend passed and I was still alive, she called the vet. Upon examination, it was determined that I had beat the odds. My red blood cell count was back on the rise. Don’t get me wrong, the road to recovery had only just begun. I was so weak from my brush with death that I couldn’t do anything on my own for quite some time. I had to be carried everywhere for a few weeks. And then, it still took me almost six-months before I was able to go for a decent length walk again. Thankfully my tail grew back.

My grandma always picks on my mother about the time she cut off my tail. Grandma made my mother promise not to donate her organs before she dies.