The luckiest dog in the world...

Let's go back about 15 years or so...we had just moved to the Danny Smith area into a new home, had a baby on the way, and our beloved Stella had to trade in a double-sized fenced in yard for a kennel, a dog run, and a routinely broken promise of more attention and exercise. A few additional months of life's whirlwind and requisite guilt brought Lucky into our lives. A pound puppy, Lucky was a good pal to Stella, kept her occupied with bossing him around for several years, and found a home with the Dahncke clan.

When Stella passed away, we considered taking on another dog. While we were figuring out our next move, we brought Lucky inside "during his time of grief." He proved to be what Laura called the "perfect" indoor dog: 

• He was quiet inside. If you wanted to pay attention to him, he made himself available, but otherwise was content to lie down and let life go on around him.
• He was not wet about the mouth (critical behavior for LD). The most moisture emitted from him was a cold nose in your kneepit, saying "Hello Daddy. If you need anything, I'm right here. Or whatever."
• He was instantly housebroken. From a puppy existence in a kennel or on a tie-out, there was absolutely no transition training needed.
• He heeled naturally (my critical behavior). For years, he and I threw disc golf at Karst Farm Park. All I had to do is point a finger to the ground next to me and say "Stay with me, Lucky," and he was there. Without fail.

Once Lucky got to be 8-9 years old, we brought Betty on board, and his position as a perfect indoor dog became ensconced. Betty was a normal, high-energy puppy, and we went through the trials and tribulations common with any dog. Lucky remained chill, if only to look at us once in a while and silently remark "What a mess. You certainly didn't have that problem with me."

Fast Forward-

Lucky's geriatric years have been an exercise in patience. It's amazing what you will consider acceptable when you love someone. Doggie Depends, multiple home improvement projects delayed or created based upon accepting behavior that needed to run its course, and a slow acceptance of the inevitable, even while celebrating the glimmers of "perfect dog" behavior. In recent months, our forays  into the woods turned into a survey of the yard, and walks became shorter and shorter. Oddly enough, the neighbor dogs who had long been considered by the old man to be inferior and full of bluster continued to elicit what memory he had left; for the longest time, he continued to remember his "business" only when he was verging on their property.

Nearly blind.

Mostly deaf.

Couldn't walk more than ten feet without pausing or lying down. Survived a determination to put him down when the shelter wouldn't let me be with him when it happened. I found a veterinarian who would, and planned to make it happen my next day off, on Thursday the 13th of June.

Last Friday, Lucky spent most of his day on the deck, where he rested when it was dry. Second story, no exits. Late in the afternoon, Laura and Ben went into town to run an errand, leaving him alone. They returned a short time later with him nowhere to be found.

Raptured? Disapparated? Lost five more pounds and slipped through the slats or under the built-in benches with no gates, no exits, no way to the surrounding neighborhood where no squirrel, rabbit, or wayward kitty was safe for years when he could possibly have escaped easily?

For three days, we pondered. Did a friend silently perform a Good Samaritan duty? Was he in some yet undisclosed place in the house, the yard, the ravine? The fact that we had absolutely no idea how he could have left the property in any sort of surreptitious fashion became more troubling than the fact that he had probably passed on.

Eagle abduction?

Yesterday, Laura checked in on Facebook (a rare occurrence). Our neighbor had sent her a message on Friday, letting her know that he saw Lucky trotting down the road late that afternoon. At once, I felt a sense of closure on his circumstances, and I know that whatever happened, he found a way to depart this life in the manner he had lived it...with dignity and an enhanced sense of "chill."

The Dude abides.

The Ghost-Face Licka.

Many more stories can be told, but this one is finished. Lucky Dog Dahncke was one of a kind, but I was the luckiest dog of all for having him in my family's life.

Here Goes Nothing...

Background info... 

I've always been a bit of a writer. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my basement, there is a folder with all my favorite papers from high school. I've put short essays on Facebook a few times, and received some positive feedback for those posts. I seem to be the de facto editor for my children, my wife, and others who want to tell a story or be persuasive in their written communication.

When I was younger, I fancied myself a future author. I started my great short story a million times over, read creative writing magazines, and envisioned being the next Ellery Queen. At some point, I realized that I didn't have the patience or drive to sustain a project of that size, and I turned to journalism. Junior year English had launched the "in-class essay," and I was fond of the ability to get in, make a few points and/or zingers, and get back out. A year later brought Journalism class and the school newspaper, and it was cemented. I had no desire to cover clubs, sports or news of the day; I longed for the editorial page. Take a topic, take a position (whether one I agreed with or not), and go to town for 3-5 paragraphs.

Heaven.

I went off to Ohio University ready to make my mark. A Journalism major, I was ready to take the writing community by storm, travel to strange and wonderful places, and never look back as I lived off of my scathing commentary of the world and it's injustices, wherever they may be. Somehow, I neglected to account for the need for ongoing financial aid, a support system that kept me motivated to go to class, and the possibility that a seventeen year old boy would become homesick.

Back to Earth, Dahncke. Life takes over. (A wonderful life, mind you.)

Fast forward/switch topic:

My father passed away at the age of 44...during my senior year of high school. I had only seen him a couple of times since my parents split ten years before, and letters and phone calls were sporadic at best. The last year of his life, he wrote me a number of times. He had cancer; and it had progressed to the point that he wasn't going to come back from it, checking into a research hospital so that they may be able to help someone else by studying his terminal condition. He was happy that he was able to see his daughter Ashley at birth, and he was talking to me about writing a book, "Take Twenty and Dream."

Earlier this year, I posted on Facebook about my dad. In that post, I said:

 " I am now older than he ever was; I can't wonder any more about why he did or didn't do things as a father. I can only be thankful for the good memories; I can only appreciate w

hat I've had to learn from scratch as being an opportunity to create a new legacy for my boys."

Since that time, I've thought more and more about putting my thoughts down on a regular basis, and sharing them with anyone interested. Blogging seemed like a logical output; I would have a sense of accountability to maintain the account, and I could dump some of this crap swimming around in my head every day.

So...here we are. My commitment is to write for twenty minutes, once a week. My topics may vary, but you can bet they will include stories about my family(past and present), concerns about parenthood and partnership while my children are growing up and moving on, and reflection on those things that make me happiest.

I'm glad you are here. I hope you'll come back and check in from time to time. :)