She loved our Lucy.
Lucy was our dog and Mom’s companion out on the farm when the rest of us were away at work and at school. They spent nearly every moment of the day together. She was just like my little, fuzzy long-eared sister. She slept when we slept. She ate when we ate. When we went camping, she got her own lawn chair between the truck and the tent. When she was little, Lucy even used to nap up on Mom’s shoulder. Never has (wo)man’s best friend been a more accurate description. Lucy could wrap Mom around her little paw with those puppy dog eyes. But there wasn’t anything in the world Lucy wanted to do more than please her mistress.
Mom even wrote songs for Miss Lucy, always sung in the baby talk voice with which Mom personified our doggie. There was one for playtime: “Her name’s Lucinda. That little baby girl… her am so precious, her am known all around the world. For her great beauty, her kind and loving ways. Baby Lucinda every day.” Sung while jumping around and with the grand finale of throwing a squeaky toy, to be chased to the other end of the house. Then, there was the one that always put Lucy right to sleep. “The bestest baby, tiny angel in the whole wide, whole wide world.”
Lucy depended on Mom for everything and Mom never once let her down.
Yes, Mom loved Lucy and Lucy loved her.