Dear Mark.
Thanks for what you do! America needs your voice proclaiming the truth across the airwaves. You have the guts to tell it like it is! I’m not kissing your ass, I just wanted to tell you about Lucky. I would try to call you, but I would start bawling so bad, that no one would understand what I was saying, and that would not make for good air time, in fact, I only just started this and I can’t see the screen for the tears.

Perhaps you and the others who might read this will condemn me for what I have done. I hope not since I only did what I had to do. No one knows this, not even my family, though I suppose now they might if they read this. Here is Lucky’s story.
One evening in San Diego, on the way home from work, I stopped in at Chuey’s (great food, by the way, if your ever there, check it out!), for a few beers. After plate of nacho’s and a pitcher of beer, with my buddies, I started for the house. I got in the car, turned on the lights, put ‘er into gear, then I stopped. Down against the curb sat a paper bag. It moved! I sat a second, watching it, as there was no wind that evening. It moved again. After going over how many beers I had had, knowing I wasn’t imagining things, I looked again. It moved again! I got out of the car, picked up the bag, opened it, and low and behold, there was a puppy in it! He was young enough his eye’s weren’t even open yet. He whimpered softly, he was near death and I had almost run him over as I left (I think that was the intention of the person who left him there, may they rot in hell!). I brought him home, knowing my wife would kill me.

Surprise, surprise, she didn’t. She ask me what I was thinking, shook her head, and proceeded to bring that baby dog back to life as only a woman can. She just KNEW what to do. Lucky spent his first week in our bathroom (we lived in a 850 sq/ft apt, with 2 kids), but the girls loved it! They thought it was fun washing his poop down the drain of the bathtub. He opened his eyes and started growing. Then he moved outside, and thrived in the balmy weather of San Diego.

We never knew what breed he was. As a small pup, he looked like a Mastiff, but the older he got, the more he started looking like a German Sheppard. And a good dog he was! After he stopped crying the first week he was outside, he slept all night and played with the girls all day! They loved feeding him his bottles, he was much more fun than their baby dolls. We started to notice a slight limp from his hind quarters. He got around great, but we knew something wasn’t right. We later found out that he had hip dysphasia. It didn’t mater though, he was a member of the family.

Eleven years later, after we moved back to Oklahoma, Lucky still made us happy. Whenever one of the girls didn’t like what I had to say to them,( they were teenagers now ) I would just say, “Go tell it to Lucky!”, and you know what? They did! Whenever Sally (my beautiful Bride) pissed me off, I would let Lucky know about it. He also found out when I upset Sally. Lucky didn’t know it, but he was our priest. He would just sit and listen to our frustrations. He still loved us, even when we ignored him. He kept us safe. No one got within 50’ of our place without us knowing about it, yet he welcomed our friends with a wagging tail and a big smile.

Here is where it gets hard to tell. Lucky started whining. Not all the time, just every once in a while, when it wasn’t to be expected. We’re skipping a year or two now, but the whining started getting worse. The vet say’s he’s just getting old, but I know different. He never whined, ever. The girls could poke him in the eye, and he just wagged his tail, he never complained.


But I feel I have to. I NEED TO HONOR Lucky’s MEMORY TO THIS WORLD!

One year ago, to the day, Lucky died. He died by MY hand.

I came home from work, and heard Lucky crying. Have you ever heard a dog “CRY“? You don’t want to! I went to the back yard, and found Lucky with the side of his face ripped open. He was in agony. I opened the gate, and took him to me. He was bleeding badly, and he was in pain. He just looked me in the eyes. I have never seen pain in someone’s eye before but I did that evening. He had bled so badly, I knew he was near death, yet he came to me! I loved on him as long as I could.

He was in pain. He was crying! I had to help him. Time was short, so I went in the house and got my gun. Lucky was my dog. He knew what a gun was. He went hunting with me. He KNEW what guns do. I opened the gate, ready to put him to rest, and cocked the rifle. Then I fell to my knees. I couldn’t shoot him! He was my best friend! I know you will think I’m lying, but he came to me then, placed his head in my lap, and looked me in the eye. Then he cried again, and backed off about 20 feet. He raised his head, looked me in the eye, and , I KNOW YOU ALL WILL THINK I’M CRAZY, but I HEARD him say, “What are you waiting for?” One more whine was all it took. I pulled the trigger. I killed my dog..

I hope you don’t condemn me for what I did. I ask a doctor afterwards, what it was, and he said who knows, maybe a brain tumor.

My family, doesn’t know, to this day, what I did. It took me 2 hours to wash all the blood from the ground. I told them someone opened the gate and let him out. They think he is lost. Only I know where he is buried (I REALLY would like to think, he is sitting at Grandadder‘s side, while fishing, waiting for me to join them in heaven). I don’t think they would ever understand if they ever found out that Daddy killed Lucky…Or maybe they would…I just know, for now, that we will not have another…

Unless, I see ANOTHER paper bag wiggle on a windless night…

Thank you MARK LEVIN, for letting me VENT my soul!

Stephan from OK