The yelping could be heard across the valley all morning. Clearly not a coyote. Also, clearly not happy or warning yelps. These were the vocalizations of distress.
I tried getting as close to the sound as possible, from our side of the creek, and called out to the suffering soul, but there was no response. I could not see them from any vantage point available to me.
The yelping was unrelenting.
I had to investigate.
I parked by the road and trekked on the other side of the creek. This is a perilous journey. The only trails are those used by the coyotes, and the passage is rough. On your left there is a steep drop down to the creek. On friendlier occasions it is an incredible view, you are walking above the treeline of the riparian zone. All the living happening down in the creek is yours to witness.
But this time I had a mission.
For a time, the yelping diminished. I wondered if it was coming from further down the creek than I had access to. But I trudged on. Then it started again, now very nearby. I pushed through a thicket, rounded a bend, and now the cries were very close. I looked down the steep embankment below me, and there she was.
Clearly a dog. Stuck in a crevice, on the very edge of a steep drop.
I called to her, and she did not acknowledge that she saw me there. Nothing to it, I had to get to her. I crab walked down the bank, and had some branches to hang on to, to get close to her. She looked up at me. An older golden retriever. You could see the fear and pain in her eyes. She did not look to me with hope. She just seemed to notice I was there.
As I got close, I saw no signs of aggression, I spoke to her in a calm, soft voice. When I got close enough, I reached out, and she let me stroke her fur. She looked me in the eyes. It was a world of pain behind those gentle orbs.
“I’m gonna get you out of here.”
But it wouldn’t be easy. The bank was steep and there were no good footholds. I did the best I could, grabbed around her middle, and gave a heave. She became unstuck. But she simply could not help with the disentanglement. Her back legs didn’t seem to be working.
Deep breath - heave ho. Deep breath - heave ho.
She did not resist and showed no aggression or agitation whatsoever.
I finally got her to a flat patch, and she kind of collapsed. She could not stand - her back legs did not seem to function.
“Stay put girl.” I had to get help.
Up a very steep bank was the house of a neighbor. This was late morning, no idea if anyone would be around. But there was no chance I could get this dog up the bank by myself. There was really no direction I could go with her to get her to safety. The signs of coyote kills are everywhere on that side of the creek, skulls of recent prey.
I knocked. Knocked again. Heard nothing. Knocked again, and my neighbor came to the door. I explained the situation and he said he’d be right out to help me.
We struggled to get down to where I had left her. My neighbor took one look and said, “Oh yea, that’s Lucy. She was left behind by someone that had moved from the area years ago. Been on her own ever since. We feed her sometimes."
According to my neighbor she was 12 or 13 years old.
I couldn’t imagine, yet another abandoned dog, like our Frodo, surviving out here on their own.
“We probably should just put her down” he suggested. “She’s old.”
“Tell you what. I’ll take responsibility for her. I’ll get her to a vet and see what the prognosis is.” I quickly replied.
“I guess, but I think we should just put her out of her misery.”
“Please, let me try.”
My neighbor reluctantly agreed, and we devised a plan to get her up top. There was an ancient, abandoned blanket nearby. We decided to use that as a stretcher and get her through the roughest part. Then he had a cart we could use to get her to the road.
Lucy endured all of this without complaint. My neighbor’s wife came out, saw Lucy, and started speaking to her in Spanish. I understood little with my tenth grade Espanol studies, but in English she said” “I’m sorry Lucy. I’m so sorry.”
After great exertion, we managed to get her to the road. She seemed completely depleted.
“Give me ten minutes to get the car.”
We loaded her up in the spot normally reserved for Freya in our Palisade, where we had to remove one of the bucket seats. She was placid, she protested none of it.
On the drive down, I Iooked at her through the rearview. She looked exhausted to her core. She could barely hold her head up. My heart hurt for her.
I called the closest vet and explained the situation. “I’m sorry” she said, "but we only have one vet today, and he’s in surgery.”
“Can you recommend someone?” I asked.
“You should do the 24-hour emergency vet clinic, they’ll take walk ins. Look, I want to help. I appreciate what you are doing. I’ll text you their address.”
The kindness of strangers. A powerful antidote to the carelessness Lucy’s previous owners showed.
When I arrived at the clinic, I quickly described the situation. It took three of us to get her out and on the gurney.
She was so compliant. There was no fight left.
Despite everyone's efforts, we lost Lucy.
Two years ago, when we were searching for the land that would become Rivendell, Kelly shared an image with me, “I see us having a second Great Pyrenees, a companion to Freya. It will be a boy, and we will raise him from a puppy. But you need another dog, for hikes and adventures. It will be a golden retriever. And we will name him Samwise. Frodo’s sidekick.”
Couldn’t help remembering this when Lucy De Luz became our dog, for a few afternoon hours last week.
We will find a way to memorialize her on the land. She is now part of Rivendell’s story.
Rest well dear Lucy.
You deserved so much better than you got…
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