The Lucky One

There are so many songs, stories, sayings about being lucky: "The Lucky One", "Ooooh lucky you!" or "Good luck!"

But what does 'lucky' actually mean?

 lucky |ˈlʌki|

adjective ( luckier, luckiest )

having, bringing, or resulting from good luck: you had a very lucky escape | three's my lucky number.

As you may know, our family dog just passed away during the time when summer arrived, and just when the leaves changed and winter's settling in, another (our last one) has just left this world too. 

My grandmother took her in after she found her helpless on the street; a leg that will never properly work again by a car. She was lucky enough to have survived. And so that's how she got her name: Lucky. 

In a way, everyone was influenced by this word: we were lucky to have another dog; she was lucky to have survived. But the thing is, everything goes away eventually and in this case, we found that Lucky got cancer and her health was deteriorating.

All in all, she did not get along well with Molly.  But she had other companions, and it was the best she could hope for. But just this Wednesday, on the King of Thailand’s 85^th birthday, amongst the showers of lights and sparks and fireworks, Lucky got shocked and startled by so much noise. With her eyes in poor condition, she ran to the backyard as she always did, but unluckily, (ironic, isn’t it?) fell into the fishpond, and during the struggles of getting out, she left us.

This is not the first death to have occurred in this fishpond; it seems that as unfortunate as it is, Lucky was and will always be our dog that hobbled into my grandmother’s arms, thirteen years ago.

She will always be, down here and up there:

The Lucky One. 

Hobbling into our arms she came

A pup coated in startling black and white

And what said it all was her name,

Everything that happened that night

She came hobbling into our arms

Hobbling, hobbling, hobbling.

She galloped in and out of the grass,

And ran and ran and ran 

Oh, what a joyful, bright lass

Her soul bright as her new life began;

Once she came hobbling into our arms

Hobbling, hobbling, hobbling.

Oh she had rivals and oh she had friends

Under the shelter of the evergreen leaves

Fun lit the wicks and it seemed to never end

Licking a bone amongst her army of thieves-

She had come hobbling into our arms

Hobbling, hobbling, hobbling.

She soon sprung overgrown like the leaves and vines

And so she guarded our door and sat and gazed

With each tick and tock we noticed the signs

As her bright fire flickered and her eyes glazed-

In our arms she hobbled on,

Hobbling, hobbling, hobbling.

A wisp of winter’s whisper washed away her whim;

Syringes stuck and sucked and stung and stayed,

Winds whooshed by black and white, hinting something grim

And she looked around, at the trees dropping tears of jade,

From our arms she hobbled up –

Up to the skies she hobbled.

Hobbling, hobbling, hobbling.