Malgesini

It would be an understatement to say this pandemic year has been trying for many people. The most difficult thing for the Malgesini Pack would be the loss of my husband’s 11-year-old German shepherd. Lucifer was diagnosed with leukemia the day after Thanksgiving.

In his prime, our majestic canine kid tipped the scales at 115 pounds. When he passed on Feb. 5, he weighed less than half that.

As we mourn, little things can bring tears — like eating scrambled eggs. Although he didn’t beg for food, Lucifer always waited patiently for me to drop the footrest on the recliner, which signaled that he was getting a snack.

During his last day with us, Lucifer accompanied me on errands. I decided to swing by Safeway to get some ice cream, a rare treat Lucifer first tasted when he was barely 2 years old. I never saw his tongue move so fast, and then he very daintily ate the cone. I always wondered if he got an ice cream headache.

Aside from getting carsick on long trips, Lucifer loved to travel. He enjoyed exploring new destinations in Oregon, Idaho, Montana and Washington — but mostly he just wanted to be wherever John was. He was just 10 months old when he took his first trip to the Oregon coast.

He enjoyed going to the “big water,” except when getting caught in a hailstorm. Captured on video, Lucifer would glance at John with a look on his face that seemed to say, “Make it stop, Papa.” Still trying to run for shelter, he’d bring one paw up to brush the pelting ice balls off his face.

Lucifer risked his status as man’s best friend during the terrible twos when he chewed three remote controls, the couch and various shoes. However, he was very well mannered at hotels, houses and bungalows.

One time at Soap Lake, Washington, I was out taking photos. John was on a run when I returned to our suite. I puttered around the room, poured myself some Pepsi, turned on the TV and was reading a newspaper.

John returned about 30 minutes later by himself. In a panic, I asked, “Where’s your dog?” Looking confused, John pointed to the dog crate, where Lucifer had been quietly laying inside the entire time.

His size, color and name sometimes intimidated people. As we were packing up the Jeep at a hotel in Meridian, Idaho, our dogs were taking care of business in the designated pet area. John snapped his fingers and called out, “Lucifer, General.”

As they came running to the rig, a gal parked in front of us froze at her bumper. As I walked to the garbage can, she commented how beautiful and well-behaved our dogs were but was a little afraid when she heard “Lucifer.”

After we picked up Lucifer’s cremains last week, John ordered an Egyptian Anubis urn. Initially, he put it on the entertainment center next to the turntable.

A couple of nights ago, when John had fallen asleep in his recliner, I glanced at the entertainment center and the urn was gone. “Where’s Lucifer?” I said out loud. Flashing back to being in the hotel at Soap Lake, I chuckled to myself and said, “Where’s your dog?”

If you ever loved and lost a canine kid, you need to watch a video of Jimmy Stewart reading his poem “I’ll Never Forget a Dog Named Beau.” It was filmed during a 1981 appearance on “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson,” and like the host, tears welled up in my eyes when viewing it. The poignant words of the late actor share the joys of dog ownership and the heartache of losing your best buddy.

While Lucifer has passed on, he remains with us in spirit.