Way back in 2011, Lucca arrived at our home, a beautiful goldendoodle with a coat the color of well-creamed coffee. She came to us with an oversized nose that we assumed she would grow into and enough energy to power a small city.
In the early days, we did not walk the dog—she walked us. She house-trained herself in a few weeks, displaying an ability to communicate that we sometimes found lacking in humans.
Lucca evidenced an unlimited interest in every smell in our neighborhood. At times, she pulled aggressively on her leash as she sought to explore neighbors’ yards. (Not all our neighbors shared our appreciation for goldendoodles or, any other dog, for that matter.)
As the months went by, Lucca’s energy and curiosity grew. She made friends with nearly every other dog in the neighborhood, even ones that growled at her. The exception, which we have never understood, is collies. She hates collies the way that most of us hate racism.
Lucca was born with wanderlust, but unfortunately with a strain that periodically shut down her brain. We assumed she loved us, even though she made a beeline for any door or gate inadvertently left open. She ran to explore the world outside the barriers that we were keeping her from.
And when I say ran, I mean it. Lucca, guided by her big nose, sniffed every telephone poll, mailbox, and a lot more. When we chased her, she ran joyously in the opposite direction. She did this repeatedly until we started to discuss the strategy of going back into our house and waiting for Lucca to tire and come home on her own.
Unfortunately, there was not a single instance where Lucca came home on her own. Usually, we would resume our search after a short break and eventually find that a neighbor had caught Lucca. How did they catch her? Once Lucca got tired and overheated enough, she sought water, sometimes after rolling around in the mud. On several occasions, Lucca took the liberty of cooling down (and bathing) in a neighbor’s swimming pool. Fortunately, the neighbor loved dogs as much as we do.
As the years have gone by, Lucca has slowed down. She grew from 13 pounds to around 57 today. She also developed a number of ailments, including several noncancerous growths that now hinder her walking. No longer is she able to leap onto chairs and sofas or into the back seat of our car. Instead, she stands patiently in the right spot until one of us lifts her up or, in the case of the car, lifts her out of the car and gently onto the pavement.
Lucca no longer runs away. We still don’t fully trust her, but I now undo her leash at the end of her walks once we near our front door. Lucca casually follows me into the house every time. Her days of exploration are over.
Friends sometimes ask whether we loved the puppy Lucca more than the mature dog that now spends many hours a day resting. We love them both.
Our 15-year-old Lucca is getting old but is even a better companion today than in 2011. While her eyesight is deteriorating, her ears seem to be compensating. She listens to us. When we tell her it’s time for bed, she goes to bed. And when we tell her its time for a Greenie and a bone, she transforms herself for a moment into the eager, excited puppy that entered our lives so many years ago.
Lucca is a good dog.
J.E. Dean writes on politics, government goldendoodles, and other subjects. A former counsel on Capitol Hill and public affairs consultant, Dean also writes for Dean’s Issues & Insights on Substack.
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