How do you say goodbye to an old friend? How do you tell your children that someone who’s been in their lives since the day they were born will soon be gone?

Lucy’s been with us longer than our children have been alive. She’s watched us grow into a bustling family of seven. She has let babies and toddlers lie on her, pull her ears, poke her eyes and attempt to ride her — and never complained. She’s been both loved and ignored, cherished and scorned. But no matter how we treated her, she was always there.

She was a companion for my wife before Lauren took my last name.

She was there when my wife and I brought our firstborn home to a one-bedroom apartment in Texas. She was there through all the moving vans, new houses and new jobs. She once rode under the seat of a 24-foot Penske truck for 18 hours to North Carolina without as much as a sigh.

She was there for my wife when I spent long hours at the office. I can’t think of a significant memory in the last 13 years that doesn’t include Lucy. The same goes for photos. She seems to be in most of them, even if just a tip of a tail at the edge of the frame.

She’s not only survived five Horton children, but also more than one run-in with a vehicle, a dognapping, a surgery to remove a fish hook from her stomach and countless encounters with hateful cats.

The first sign that something was wrong with our aging chocolate Labrador came a couple years ago. She developed a noticeable wheezing when she breathed heavily. That eventually developed into painful coughing spells.

More than one veterinarian has told us she won’t be around much longer. She was given two years to live about two years ago. She was most recently given about 6 months.

She walks with a noticeable limp from arthritis. She doesn’t see or hear that well. Her coughing spells are more intense this time of year, and she has lost control of her bladder. But we still love her, maybe now more than ever.

But she is clearly on her last legs.

A couple months ago, we thought she was dying. At about midnight on a Tuesday, she started heaving and coughing violently. I sat outside with the mosquitoes and held her head, certain this was the last time I would get to pet her. My wife couldn’t bear to watch.

After an hour or so, the coughing subsided. There have been other episodes but she has pulled through each time.

My wife and I have talked about putting her down if she worsens. The vet advised that euthanasia might be the best choice once she’s having more bad days than good.

But for an aging Lab who can still wade into a pond to cool off, has five children around to love on her, and is treated like the queen she is, every day is a good day. Or so it seems.

The time will come soon enough I’m sure. Every morning when I leave for work, I nudge her awake just to make sure she’s alive. There will be a morning that she’s not. Or there will come a time when her pain is too much and a small syringe will finish what nature has started.

And soon, for the first time in 13 years, there will be a morning when Lucy simply isn’t there anymore.

We’ve tried to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. We even picked out another dog that will soon join our family. But we know Lucy can never be replaced. Our lives, our memories and our children’s most precious years were filled with her constant presence. What more could you ask for from a friend?

Luke Horton is publisher of The Daily Leader. Email him at luke.horton@dailyleader.com