Sleep well Lucia Pechko, my wild child
Lucia is near death. She is almost 18. In the last 10 hours, she has had a few seizures - it’s pretty hard to watch. I have been up since 3:00, but the vet doesn’t open until 8:00. I know it’s time. I am horrified. Words cannot describe the uniqueness and mischievousness of this little dog, how much she could express and love everyone she came across, how big of a personality she had, and how much of my heart she owned. Lucia made life fun. How chaotically beautiful it all was with her.
This is her final gift to me, allowing me to show up for her this one last time. To hold space, to hold her. To get a chance to tell her how much I love her and kiss her long nose. It is all so devastatingly beautiful. I am so grateful to her.
I have never been this present in my life. I can’t fathom what will happen to me after she is gone. That’s how dark the future without her is. So I immediately get back to her needs, her tiny body, which has been glued to mine for the last 48 hours. We have always been very close, but this time, it’s different; she has begun her slow farewell dance. I can feel it in the way she is pressed into me. Her tiny frame has softened, and she is in every curve of my body and neck. It is beyond intimate to connect with her in her final moments; she knows that her time is up, and she wants to spend it together. It is profound.
I loved Lucia from the first moment I saw her. Dogs, like humans, have a destiny; Lucia was destined to be mine. In many ways, she is/was my spirit animal, a little hell-raiser from the moment I got her. Strong, assertive and aggressive, super fun, fiercely loyal, and bitchy. She wasn’t big on physical affection and only wanted to be close when sick. Which is how I always knew she wasn’t feeling well; then, all she wanted was my love. She was always by my feet somehow. Lucia, I love you so much.
I got her at Groomarama, a pet shop that used to be on Lower 6th Avenue. It was February of 2002, shortly after 9/11. I walked in to see some puppies, and there she was, a runt of the litter. She resembled a true misfit, a tiny bat with a black widow’s peak. I loved her the minute I saw her. I was with a friend who desperately tried to talk me out of getting her. But he knew, once I picked her up, I was never letting go - he says it is evident from the first moment.
As many greyhounds do, Lucia would break her paw within a few months. I remember that night like it was yesterday. I had ordered sushi, and when the doorbell rang, Lucia leaped off the couch, and her leg snapped. I can never forget that scream, with her little leg swaying back and forth in her skin. It was terrible. I remember throwing the money at the delivery boy as I rushed past him with her in my arms down five flights of stairs.
In the movie Terms of Endearment, Shirley MacLaine demands that her daughter be given some medicine. She becomes hysterical until someone does just that. That is precisely how I rolled into the NYC Animal Medical Center on the UES, screaming that my dog needed medicine even before anyone asked me to fill anything out. As anyone who knows me will tell you, Lucia was whisked away in mere seconds and returned to me two minutes later with drool coming down her tiny mouth; that’s how high she was. She had two surgeries after that one break and broke the paw again three months later. It took 16 years for her bones to fuse. I know that because her foot started bleeding last year, she needed surgery to remove the plate. I left Burning Man for her. She was my baby. There was no other choice.
Lucia was a lot of dogs with a tiny body and a huge personality. Once I came home and found her chewing gum, she couldn’t swallow it and just stood there in the middle of the living room chewing it. In her heyday, she would lash out at every dog passing by us while on the leash, no matter how big or small that dog was. She was also pretty menacing for most of her life and getting into things she wasn’t supposed to be near, like finding and eating an entire marijuana rice crispy bar hidden in a zipped bag in a suitcase, which she managed to pry somehow open. She ate countless handbags, shoes, and eyeglasses as a puppy, she ripped garbage bag after garbage bag (including one two weeks ago), and I must have replaced at least 50 rugs while we lived together. She loved leaving me gifts all over the place. Throwing up on rugs, and sometimes I’d even catch her trying to eat her poop.
My mom and stepfather cared for her and her sister Eva for many of their lives. I lost count of how many times my enraged mother would call to tell me that Lucia somehow jumped from the floor to the chair onto the breakfast table and ate an entire plate of cottage cheese pancakes (she loved them so much). In Lucia’s world, If you got up from the table, that spot automatically became hers, and she would leap onto it and start eating off the plate in front of her. She didn’t need an invite. She was genuinely shameless in that sense and also loved food. Two weeks ago, she celebrated her 17th Thanksgiving with our family. I knew it would be her last.
She was the dog that would steal food from babies' hands. I have seen her do it. She didn’t care about any consequences and did whatever she wanted, and I loved her for being that way. She took trains, plains, and automobiles and was the most incredible companion to travel with. She didn’t let a bent and mangled paw stop her from running and chasing chickens, playing frisbee, and her favorite Ikea soccer ball. She loved playing fetch and was so fun and good at it. She was up until the last person left at any party or dinner I hosted and was often in her assigned seat at all the gatherings; she loved life so much and lived it so well.
Coming home to Lucia has been the best part of my daily day for the past 17.5 years. I have thought about this recently; I am just grateful for this tiny little being about to take her final stroll to the vet. This is our last walk together. She was so significant in helping me become a better woman and a responsible dog mom; she needed care and vets a lot of her life, and I ensured I was there for every appointment. I read somewhere that every stressful situation for a dog is better when its owner is present. So that is what I did with Lucia.
And now, as I am typing this on my iPhone, she is lying on my chest. She knows I'm here. I always told her I’d be with her till the end, so here I am. Her little nose is nuzzled in my neck, and her body is calm and pain-free. I am so afraid to think about tomorrow. My mind can’t fathom that she will no longer be around physically. I understand that dogs have a certain amount of time with us. I get it. And I am grateful beyond what I can ever describe for having her. She was just such a special companion to share my life with.
Lucia, you died as you have lived, surrounded by love and great comfort and showered by Mom’s kisses. One day, I will run free with you again, my precious baby love. Sleep well, my sweet darling. I loved you in ways I can never express; there aren’t enough stars in the galaxy to adequately describe my infinite love for you. Thanks for finding me. Till soon, my favorite humanoid.
Love, Mom