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Description
This is my doggie. She's a red doberman.

We had to put her down because she had cancer in her bones. She lasted longer than expected, but one day she broke both of her front legs because her bones were so thin.

Shittiest day ever.

This was taken a few days before she broke her legs. By that time, she had a soft tumor in one leg and a hard tumor in the other. You can see them in the picture.

This dog was ridiculously awesome. So much that my dad got a tattoo of her on his leg after she died, and I have the draw-up of that tattoo on my shelf in my room. It was from a picture of her that I took back when she was healthy.

She was not a good dog; she was the best dog. I know everybody says that about their dog, but everyone else is full of shit.

Even when she was lying on a metal table at the vet's office with two broken legs, two tumors, and a needle in her leg, her ears perked up and her tail wagged when she saw me. And she smiled. Even a lady at the vet's office we didn't know cried when we put her down, because the lady saw that she smiled and got excited when she saw us, even though she was in so much pain.

When I broke my foot, I blamed Lucy and yelled at her, so all 85 pounds of her crawled up into my lap like a cat and waited with me until my mom got back to take me to the emergency room.

She slept under the Christmas tree in a tiny cat bed.

She was scared of cats. When we brought my siamese cotton-ball sized kitten home, it chased Lucy around our house. She did let our mellow cat, Joey, sleep with her though. He's the only one of our cats that she wasn't afraid of, and we had a lot of cats over the years.

She'd sneak into bed with me and wrap herself up in my covers.

She never licked faces, unless it was my face and I was crying.

She legitimately knew how to play hide and seek.

She liked to jump on the trampoline.

She'd protect me from anything. She didn't like when people would hug me because she thought they were hurting me. We also discovered that I could command her to attack anyone and she would, even though no one actually taught her to do this.

She didn't care if people left the house, but every morning when I left for school she would bark at me as I left and then whine as she watched me walk to the bus stop. My mother told me that she never stopped whining until I got home.

If she'd over turn the trash can or rip open a bag of chips or chocolate that we left out, she'd hide from us when we got home. After yelling at her, she'd make it up by crawling onto our laps and crushing us. She didn't understand why the cats could do it and she couldn't.

She'd lie perfectly still and let me paint her nails.

During thunderstorms, she'd scramble across my hard wood floors just to hide under the covers with me in my room. She'd do the same thing during the Fourth of July because she was scared of fireworks.

If I was dancing around the house to music, she'd stand up on her back legs and try to dance with me. This is exactly how I broke my foot.

You could slip the word 'bunny' into any conversation, and she'd would run to the window and stare outside, looking for a bunny. Same with the word 'squirrel'. You also couldn't use the words 'flashlight' or 'laser' in casual conversation, because she was obsessed with both. My dad actually gave her her own flashlight and she carried it around with her everywhere.

If she'd hear a motorcycle off in the distance, she'd sit at the window and wait for my dad to come, even if it wasn't him she heard.

She'd stare at her reflection in the mirror and poke it with her nose. She used to do this for hours at a time.

If the mormons knocked on our door, I'd just have to say "Lucy, get them!" and she'd bark viciously and would try to scratch her way through the door. They would always leave quickly.

She would respond appropriately to the following commands: "Lucy, move. You're blocking the TV", "Bite (our other dog) Jack's neck", "Dance", "High five", "Go get *insert family member's name here*", and "Lucy, go check if someone's in the driveway".

In the winter, I used to pretend she was a sled dog. I would sit on an inflatable tube, hold her leash, and then say "mush" and she'd pull me across the yard.

She could say, "I love you". It sounded like "Aiirrooorruuu", but it was pretty damn close.

If I was sick, she'd stay with me until I felt better. When I had a really bad cold, we had to move her water and food into my room and force her to go outside to pee.

She wasn't allowed on the couch, but sneaked up there at night, anyway. When she heard us get up in the morning, she'd sneak back down off the couch. If we caught her in the act, she'd freeze mid-sneak as if we couldn't see her.

If I had to eat alone for dinner, she'd climb up on the dining room chair across from me and sit on it.

I gave her a stuffed dog and she carefully carried it around with her for about three years. Then one day, she ripped it to shreds and left it in my bed.

Best of all, Lucy smiled. She could frown, too, but it was always best to see her smile. If you would scratch her in just the right place or toss a toy or give her table scraps, she'd perk up her ears, close her eyes, and pull back her cheeks into a big doggie grin.

So, there you are. My perfect 'big brown dog', who will be missed.

Lucy Goose. Lulu. Lucy-Face. Loogie. Big Brown Dog. 'Raggy'.

10/17/00 - 08/03/09

Description
This is my doggie. She's a red doberman.

We had to put her down because she had cancer in her bones. She lasted longer than expected, but one day she broke both of her front legs because her bones were so thin.

Shittiest day ever.

This was taken a few days before she broke her legs. By that time, she had a soft tumor in one leg and a hard tumor in the other. You can see them in the picture.

This dog was ridiculously awesome. So much that my dad got a tattoo of her on his leg after she died, and I have the draw-up of that tattoo on my shelf in my room. It was from a picture of her that I took back when she was healthy.

She was not a good dog; she was the best dog. I know everybody says that about their dog, but everyone else is full of shit.

Even when she was lying on a metal table at the vet's office with two broken legs, two tumors, and a needle in her leg, her ears perked up and her tail wagged when she saw me. And she smiled. Even a lady at the vet's office we didn't know cried when we put her down, because the lady saw that she smiled and got excited when she saw us, even though she was in so much pain.

When I broke my foot, I blamed Lucy and yelled at her, so all 85 pounds of her crawled up into my lap like a cat and waited with me until my mom got back to take me to the emergency room.

She slept under the Christmas tree in a tiny cat bed.

She was scared of cats. When we brought my siamese cotton-ball sized kitten home, it chased Lucy around our house. She did let our mellow cat, Joey, sleep with her though. He's the only one of our cats that she wasn't afraid of, and we had a lot of cats over the years.

She'd sneak into bed with me and wrap herself up in my covers.

She never licked faces, unless it was my face and I was crying.

She legitimately knew how to play hide and seek.

She liked to jump on the trampoline.

She'd protect me from anything. She didn't like when people would hug me because she thought they were hurting me. We also discovered that I could command her to attack anyone and she would, even though no one actually taught her to do this.

She didn't care if people left the house, but every morning when I left for school she would bark at me as I left and then whine as she watched me walk to the bus stop. My mother told me that she never stopped whining until I got home.

If she'd over turn the trash can or rip open a bag of chips or chocolate that we left out, she'd hide from us when we got home. After yelling at her, she'd make it up by crawling onto our laps and crushing us. She didn't understand why the cats could do it and she couldn't.

She'd lie perfectly still and let me paint her nails.

During thunderstorms, she'd scramble across my hard wood floors just to hide under the covers with me in my room. She'd do the same thing during the Fourth of July because she was scared of fireworks.

If I was dancing around the house to music, she'd stand up on her back legs and try to dance with me. This is exactly how I broke my foot.

You could slip the word 'bunny' into any conversation, and she'd would run to the window and stare outside, looking for a bunny. Same with the word 'squirrel'. You also couldn't use the words 'flashlight' or 'laser' in casual conversation, because she was obsessed with both. My dad actually gave her her own flashlight and she carried it around with her everywhere.

If she'd hear a motorcycle off in the distance, she'd sit at the window and wait for my dad to come, even if it wasn't him she heard.

She'd stare at her reflection in the mirror and poke it with her nose. She used to do this for hours at a time.

If the mormons knocked on our door, I'd just have to say "Lucy, get them!" and she'd bark viciously and would try to scratch her way through the door. They would always leave quickly.

She would respond appropriately to the following commands: "Lucy, move. You're blocking the TV", "Bite (our other dog) Jack's neck", "Dance", "High five", "Go get *insert family member's name here*", and "Lucy, go check if someone's in the driveway".

In the winter, I used to pretend she was a sled dog. I would sit on an inflatable tube, hold her leash, and then say "mush" and she'd pull me across the yard.

She could say, "I love you". It sounded like "Aiirrooorruuu", but it was pretty damn close.

If I was sick, she'd stay with me until I felt better. When I had a really bad cold, we had to move her water and food into my room and force her to go outside to pee.

She wasn't allowed on the couch, but sneaked up there at night, anyway. When she heard us get up in the morning, she'd sneak back down off the couch. If we caught her in the act, she'd freeze mid-sneak as if we couldn't see her.

If I had to eat alone for dinner, she'd climb up on the dining room chair across from me and sit on it.

I gave her a stuffed dog and she carefully carried it around with her for about three years. Then one day, she ripped it to shreds and left it in my bed.

Best of all, Lucy smiled. She could frown, too, but it was always best to see her smile. If you would scratch her in just the right place or toss a toy or give her table scraps, she'd perk up her ears, close her eyes, and pull back her cheeks into a big doggie grin.

So, there you are. My perfect 'big brown dog', who will be missed.

Lucy Goose. Lulu. Lucy-Face. Loogie. Big Brown Dog. 'Raggy'.

10/17/00 - 08/03/09