When I first met Lucky, he was friendly, affectionate and so adorable. I instantly loved him.
He belonged to the neighbors whom my parents and I grew close to. From time to time, we would take him in as a favor to the them. When they let him free in the yard, he’d run over to our back door and scratch on the screen. “Let me in!” he was saying. We would, of course, always let him in. Within seconds, he would throw himself on his back and demand for his belly to be rubbed. We always gave in to that too.
I have a ton of stories about Lucky. The day he was scared of a bunny. The day he sneezed in my face. The day he refused to be walked when it was snowing out (which was also the day he won a staring contest with my Mom). The days he greeted me by licking my toes. The day my Dad secretly fed him yellow rice and the evidence stuck all over his beard.
My Mom and I gave him a nickname – Lucky Buffalo (you had to be there). Sometimes, I called him My Little Boy Blue (don’t actually know how that one came about, but it was a term of endearment nonetheless).
Though he was the neighbors’ dog, he belonged to us too. He was a part of both of our families.
Little Lucky boy, may he rest in peace. He will be so very missed.