Vale Lucy

I had already moved to live in England when Lucy joined Harry and Zac at Mount Helen. But she noticed that when I went to visit, Harry was always delighted to see me. Even Zac, who was never a waggy dog, would twitch the end of his tail, in a dignified manner, when he saw me. Clearly I was family, and Lucy accepted me as such:

Zac and Harry in their baskets.  Lucy, on me!

She was fonder of women visitors than she was of men (excepting family) but she took to The Builder when she first met him. Clearly, she thought of him as family too:

She was a good dog. She bounced and wagged and played and barked. She had her moments, though. She ate the butter when I was making eighty cupcakes for Tony's 80th birthday and Lindsey had to go out on an emergency mission to get more. She didn't approve of Lindsey and Ian's poultry. She strongly believed that any food left on a plate that she could reach was hers (you can see her point on that one!). She wasn't entirely convinced, as she got older, by the need of the youngsters to play with and bounce on her

Great Danes are not a long lived breed of dog and Lucy was 11. I knew when we left for Cairns earlier in the month that, realistically, this would be the last time we said goodbye to Lucy. But she was fit and healthy and cheery, so it seemed possible that she might still be there when next we passed by. I certainly wasn't expecting an RIP message any time soon.

It came on Wednesday. She had gone to bed on Tuesday evening and Ross, who had stayed in the house overnight while Lindsey and Ian were in Melbourne, found her "sleeping" when he got up in the morning.   Not a bad way to go for an elderly Great Dane.

Lucy, with Bethan and Lindsey, on her last Sunday evening, eyeing off the cassoulet - which was on a plate and within reach :-D

Fare well, Lucy. Good dog!