Loose Lucy and the Christmas Ham

Posted Fri, 2010-03-26 12:37 by Emily Caryl

Loose Lucy was my first dog, a boxer.  She was the best dog in the world.  Everybody loved Lucy.  She traveled all over the country with me.  By the time she died, at almost 11 years old, Lucy had visited 36 states, swam in three oceans, and made friends from coast to coast.

The Loose One

Shortly after I finished college, my parents moved to the Grand Canyon for a few years.  My dad happened to get a job with the National Park Service.  So they relocated from Georgia to the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park.  Lucy and I seized every opportunity for a road trip to the Grand Canyon.

One Christmas, my parents hosted a number of guests:  my sister, their Thai exchange student, my Aunt Barbara, myself, and Lucy.  Since they lived in Park Service housing (read:  not a big place), there weren't enough beds to go around.  So Aunt Barbara and I stayed nearby at the Maswik Lodge.  And since dogs weren't allowed at the lodge, my parents were happy to let Lucy stay with them.  They often referred to Lucy as their "granddog."

On Christmas Eve, the women of the family spent the day planning Christmas dinner.  We pored over cookbooks and recipes.  We shopped for provisions at the small general store.  And we prepared for a feast featuring ham, potatoes, green beans, and all the fixings.

Late on Christmas Eve night, I went back to the lodge while my parents and all their house guests headed off to midnight church services.  Lucy was left to guard the house.  Maybe the preacher was long-winded.  Or maybe Lucy got bored waiting for Santa.  Either way, she had no trouble occupying her time while everyone was out.

An appropriate tune.¹

My dad was the last person to return home that evening.  He knew something was wrong when he opened the front door and heard my mom, admonishing in her most stern tone, "You're a bad dog!  You better get back on your bed!  You're a bad.  Dog."

You see, we'd left the Christmas ham on the kitchen counter to thaw.  And while Lucy hadn't paid a bit of attention to it during the day, she certainly noticed it after everyone left.  She ate a good portion of the ham.  And what she couldn't eat, she saved for later.  By burying it.  All over the house.  My mom found ham between the couch cushions, in the recliner, and underneath the living room rug.  After quite a bit of searching, she finally located the ham bone underneath the covers on my sister's bed.  Following midnight church services on Christmas Eve, my mom was driven to clean the upholstery, do laundry, and change the sheets.

And my dad had to stay up with Lucy all night.  Apparently Lucy's tummy wasn't used to quite that much sodium.  My dad barely slept.  He got up to take Lucy outside every 30 minutes or so.  All night long.

In fact, when I arrived at the house early the next morning, Lucy's stomach hung almost to the floor.  I don't think she ate again for at least a week.

I'm pretty sure my parents eventually forgave Lucy for the loss of the Christmas ham.  But none of us will ever forget eating tacos for Christmas dinner.

1.  "Dogs Stole Things," written by Trey Anastasio and Tom Marshall, performed by Phish, The Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA, July 12, 2003.

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