Lucky

My family has had Lucky since I was in third grade. I still remember my first time seeing him. My childhood dog Zach had died earlier that year, leaving my family with a severe void. My parents promised a new dog around Christmas, and we spent months going to animal shelters and pet stores looking for the perfect dog.

It was my dad who found Lucky. He came home one day in December promising that he’d found the perfect dog for us, refusing to tell anybody but my mom anything about him. On Christmas Eve, he took us to a shopping mall and told us to wait near the entrance. A few moments later, he returned riding down the escalator with a black schnauzer-terrier mix that I named Lucky (though my brother contends to this day that the name was his idea).

Lucky is a rescue that was around four years old when we got him. Through the years, he has become one of my best friends. I still remember him jumping onto my bed each night to go to sleep when I was a child. He’s learned to fetch, sit, lie down, heel, and shake hands in his time at our house.

Now that I’m in college, I don’t see as much of Lucky anymore. Each time I return home, it seems as if his fur has grown a little bit grayer. He clearly has lost a step, though he still loves playing fetch and will jump onto my bed whenever I invite him up. As much as I’m dreading the day that Lucky leaves us, I understand exactly how much he’s meant to my family over the past ten years. He’s more than just a pet; he’s a family member.