The "Other" Lucy of Long Ago

You all know about my sweet black Lab: Lucy. She is the first born at Dogwood, and the grumpy old apple of Daddy's eye.  But she was not the first four legged Lucy in my family tree. Once upon a time, long ago, there was another Lucy, of a different four legged variety, that provided companionship was just as loved just as much as the current canine that bares that name.

My grandmother was a miraculous woman who came of age at the beginning of the Great Depression. Like many women of her era, she worked every job and chore imaginable to help keep the family afloat through the hard times. Those hard times gave her a bountiful number of stories to tell her grand kids. This tale was always one of my favorites.


When the effects of the Great Depression reached North Carolina., my grandparents had been married only a few years. Both came from large families that worked together for the common good of all. Employment had dried up and the whole family was out of work. My Grandfather knew a man who owned a grown up bit of land, and struck an agreement with him. In exchange for clearing the parcel, he would be allowed to live on and farm the land. So, my grandparents and ten of the siblings moved there and built two log cabins. Together, they cleared the land, planted, and kept the families going by selling what they could of the produce and crops while living off the rest.

One of the first purchases made with the little money they had was a pig. My grandmother loved all animals and struck up a strange friendship with the little pig that she named Lucy.

Between the time of the land being cleared and the crops growing, the family members would fan out across the county, looking for sustaining income until the farm produced. Sometimes Grandma was alone until someone returned. Lucy the pig was her constant companion. They tried in vain to keep her in a pin, but Lucy cried and cried so that Grandma couldn't bare it. So Lucy ran about outside, following her every step.

Lucy grew in to a good sized pig. Usually, a pig was raised to feed the family when it's time came. But no one dared mention the thought of sacrificing little Lucy.

By the end of the first year, the family had cleared and planted part of the land, surviving the winter from its bounty. In the spring, it was decided that they would plant another section. Everyone worked to clear the overgrowth and trees. As they cut , the brush was piled in several large heaps, and then burned. Each man took charge of a pile and added to it after it began to burn.

When one of the piles caught, there was a blood curling squeal from somewhere in the mass of tangled vines and branches. My grandmother dropped the load of brush from her arms and ran towards the sound. Lucy, who was rooting around the clearing, had rooted herself a path into brush pile and lain down. The pig came out of the burning pile straight to my grandmother, the fur on her backside scorched off by the flames.

Lucy survived, shaken but alive. She lived on for another few years before an illness took her and other farm animals in the bottom lands. Until the day she crossed the rainbow bridge, she was ever faithful to my grandmother, and my grandmother to her.  
I'd heard her tell this story a thousand times. Each time, I could see the love in her eyes and hear the tenderness in her voice when she remembered her precious little pig.

My Grandmother left us twenty three years ago,but her stories still live in me. Maybe it's the times we are living in now, but I've been thinking of this tale a lot lately. I feel that she's reminding me that even when times are tough, the love of family, and even little pigs, can turn things around.  I miss her terribly, and not a day goes by that something doesn't remind me of her. But as long as I remember stories like these, she will live in my heart.

I like to think that when she crossed over into "Beulah Land", her loved ones were waiting to greet her, and among them, was little Lucy.