I wasn't as successful as I hoped I'd be in the first activity. I dumped all her toys on the floor, figuring I would throw out all the ones that were worn out or torn up but I wasn't finding much I was willing to part with. I didn't cry or feel sad and it wasn't that I couldn't part with the toys because of some deep emotional attachment to them. I had this odd calmness come over me as I went through the exercise. I kept getting a feeling there was a good chance Lucky would come back to me some day and I was sure she'd enjoy being reunited with her most favorite toys. If you don't believe in reincarnation, you might think that I am deep in denial, but since I do believe animals come back to spend another lifetime with their previous guardians, it didn't feel out of the realm of possibilities. As I went through her toy basket, I kept getting a strong "knowing" that she would be back.
After going through all of her toys, only about 10-12 of them ended up in the garbage. The remaining toys (over 50 or more) ended up back in the basket. So, one task down (even if I barely got a "C" for my effort) and it was onto the next . . . vacuuming the stairs.
You may be thinking it's rather strange that I haven't been able to vacuum the stairs since Lucky passed away, but it's because it was Lucky's most favorite house cleaning chore and never in my life had I seen a dog so filled with glee at the sight of a hand-held vacuum cleaner. The second I pulled the hand-vac out of the hall closet, Lucky would grab a tennis ball and immediately run to the top of the stairs and wait for the "Stair game" to begin. Even when I hadn't planned on vacuuming the stairs, (i.e. when I had pulled out the hand-vac to clean some cobwebs or something else), I would end up vacuuming the stairs because her joy was so contagious and I couldn't bring myself to tell her, "No, we're not going to vacuum the stairs today." (Especially since she would run to the top of the stairs as soon as I pulled out the hand-vac and she wouldn't budge from that spot until the "game" began).
The game consisted of me starting at the bottom of the stairs and her laying at the top of the stairs. She would spit the tennis ball out of her mouth, watching it bounce down the steps until it got to me. It was then up to me to grab the tennnis ball (while still vacuuming the step) and throw it back up to her. She would catch the ball and then promptly spit the ball out of her mouth again, watching it bounce down the steps until it reached me. The game continued until the gap between us was only one step.
It sounds like a easy and maybe even boring game, but there were all sorts of challenges that made the game even more fun, like if I missed the ball, or lost my balance while trying to grab the ball, or when I threw the ball up to her and it bounced off her teeth and came flying back towards me, or if it was just a bad throw that ricocheted off the wall instead of landing in her mouth. All these "challenges" added joy to the game for Lucky and her eyes would sparkle with delight. There are only thirteen steps to the second floor, but sometimes the "Stair game" would last a half an hour or longer. I'm pretty sure I had the cleanest stairs in the world in all the years Lucky was with me.
Even in the last part of Lucky's life, when her back end was weak and she couldn't go up the stairs anymore, we would still play the "Stair game." I remember one day towards the end of her life, I wanted to vacuum the dog hair off the stairs before company arrived and I was just going to do it quickly, by myself . . . but the look on her face when I pulled out the hand-vac told me that it was no time to start a new tradition. I helped her to the top of the stairs and handed her a tennis ball, then went to the bottom of the stairs to begin vacuuming. The twinkle in her eyes and the sheer joy on her face confirmed for me that the game was still one of her most favorite things, and even though she needed my help at the start and the end of the game, it didn't take away from the experience. She happily dropped the ball, watched it bounce down the steps towards me and the game was on!!
So, last weekend when I set out to finally vacuum the stairs, I was afraid it would be too hard to do it without her, which is why my stairs have gone un-vacuumed all year. Much to my delight, I actually enjoyed it. I had a moment of sadness when I first started, but mostly it just made me smile, as I thought about the hundreds of times Lucky convinced me we needed to "clean house" and how she managed to help me find enjoyment in a task that I used to dread.
I'm happy to say I think I am going to be able to vacuum the stairs now without any trouble, and even though a lot of people may think I am a little crazy, I'll be hanging onto Lucky's toys for a while longer, so if she comes back, she'll be able to play with them again.
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