Poof & Lucy

Ever since I was a little girl, there was an ad with a picture of a small child standing next to a gigantic dog. I always loved the picture and knew one day when I was grown up that I would have a dog that looked like the one standing next to this girl in the picture. It was a Newfoundland; a big, slobbery, lazy and absolutely beautiful dog.

Fast forward many years later, I’m moving into my first home on my own with my husband and the time came to talk about getting a dog. My husband is not one who needed to be talked into getting a dog. He loves dogs just as much as me. He wanted to wait a couple of months to settle in our house and take a vacation we had planned for that summer before diving into a puppy. His reasoning made sense, but it was not going to work for me.

I found a Newfoundland pup in northern Indiana that was in need of a home, and we set up a day to go and just meet her. They referred to her as “orange” since that was the color of her ribbon they used to distinguish their pups.

It was December in the year of 2013, just a mere few days after Christmas that we went up on icy roads to meet the pup. We arrived at the farm with such excitement. We both knew you don’t go and look at a puppy. We both knew that we were meeting our first dog together and starting an adventure. It was snowing and absolutely freezing; the kind of cold where your extremities ache and you cannot warm yourself.

We walked into a heated barn on their farm, and there was the orange puppy. We both melted and she took to my husband as if she was his soulmate. Instantly, we both loved her and knew she was ours, but the truth is, from day one, she was always his and the same for him. She decided at that moment that he was her number one person, and I would always be secondary in her life. She loved me, no doubt, and I loved her so much my heart hurt, but I was second. She was always the other woman in our relationship, and it was unspoken how much those two had unending devotion to each other.

Her name was Stella, but she went by many names. Poof, McDoo, Newf Poof who goes woof, just to name a few. We called her Poof. She grew into this gigantic black and white (Landseer) Newfoundland. She was striking in her appearance, not just for her size, but her beauty.

This was the dog who was there for the first 10 years of our life together. This was the dog who laid next to us on the couch as we shared the joy of finding out we were pregnant, saw us bring home two babies, watched us grieve as we lost two pregnancies, and was there for every single one of life’s ups and downs. This was the dog who sat there staring at us as we welcomed each kid home and another dog with a look on her face that said, “Are you kidding me?” We used to joke that she would roll her eyes, go light a cigarette, have herself a smoke, and be less than pleased with us for being traitors.

Ten years passed with her more quickly than I cared to believe. When you have a dog of a certain size and age, you always have that dreaded fear in the back of your mind that life is short and every little thing that was once minor seems more anxiety-ridden because no matter how old they are, you’re never ready.

The day came, somewhat out-of-the-blue for us. It was horrible and one that I would like to rid my mind of forever. We were emotionally gutted. I haven’t grieved like this since losing my own dad. I kept telling myself that my kids are OK and that I need to put this in perspective and function, but in reality, she was a dog to everyone else, but she was my first kid. She was the one who in essence made me a mom.

We had to make the heartbreaking and devastating, but appropriate decision to let her be at peace. I have lost dogs before and felt devastation, but this was different. I was an adult, and it was up to my husband and me to do right by her. There wasn’t a grownup to take care of this situation and shelter me from the harsh reality of what needed to be done. The car ride home from the vet still brings tears to my eyes as I write this.

We both knew at some point we were going to get another dog, but neither of us was ready. We had just lost a beloved family member when we said goodbye to Poof. You do not just wake up and decide you’re ready. We both knew that after adopting our second dog from a rescue in Muncie called ARF (Animal Rescue Fund) that when the time came to get another dog that they would be coming from there. I decided to reach out to the lady I had corresponded with when we adopted our second dog to let her know our situation and reiterated that while we were NOT ready to get another dog emotionally, that at some point we would be and wanted to make sure our adoption information was current from our last adoption. We did agree that while we were not ready, that when the time did come, her name would be Lucy. We both have always loved the name and it would be the name of our next dog.

A couple of weeks go by, and I receive a text from the same lady with a picture of a pup and a text that read, “We have a litter of half husky/ quarter lab/ and quarter border collie. One female left.” I was in the middle of work and saw her name appear on my text and instantly my heart started beating faster. I can hear my pulse and start to think, Oh my God. I don’t know if I’m ready. There’s no way my husband is ready, but she is so cute and we are so sad.

I knew I had to handle this delicately with my husband. I sit down at my desk and flip my desk calendar to December 13, and I notice that it happened to be the Feast Day of St. Lucy. I immediately knew it was a sign.

I sent my husband a screenshot of my conversation and her picture. He immediately, as I knew he would, started with trepidation and saying he didn’t know if he was ready. I then sent him the photo of my desk calendar with St. Lucy. It was met with crickets. I knew what this meant. He was processing all of this. He told me to call him. The next thing I know we are seriously discussing the possibility of this puppy.

Stella “Poof” Rathz (above left) and Lucille “Lucy” McGillicuddy Rathz (above right). (Photos provided by Megan Rathz)

The lady at the rescue called him (per my request) to discuss the puppy, her situation, and any questions he may have. She asked if we wanted to schedule a meet and greet. He said that he would talk to me and we would let her know that day. He told me to give him a call and when we spoke, we both agreed our minds were racing and needed some time to think on this without the influence of the other person. I said why don’t we just not talk for a couple of hours and each give this some thought before we say how we are feeling.

Two hours later, I called him and he told me we had a meet and greet scheduled for noon that Saturday. We were just going to meet her. It doesn’t mean we are taking her home that day or at all.

As that week progressed, we started referring to her as Lucy. This sad weight we had been carrying around seemed to lift a bit. The next thing I know, my husband is ordering her an I Love Lucy Christmas stocking and both of us ordered her toys for Christmas.

Saturday rolls around and the time had come to meet this pup. In walks Lucy and I knew just as I did with Poof, our lives were about to change. She was our next great adventure. We didn’t even discuss it. We just knew meeting her that she was ours. It is snowing and absolutely freezing again, but once again I melt when I see her.

The name Lucy means “light.” She has been a beacon of light during a period of darkness in our home and hearts. I will always remember Poof and I will always miss Poof. I will forever maintain a large part of my heart for her, but it is in her loss that I realize my heart has room for more love to give, and the space I made is just Lucy’s size.

I love Lucy and she loves not only me, but all of us. I’ve told her many times that we needed her and I know she needed us, too. Afterall, nobody really goes to meet a puppy.

Megan Rathz is a wife, mother and teacher. She says everything she has ever learned in life came from her Master Gardener mother.