I miss my dog.

I was cooking dinner today and dropped some food on the floor (as I often do). I immediately looked up to call our dog, Lilly, to clean up and realized she was gone. We put her to sleep on the 6th after she'd been with us for more than 10 years.

When I come home and drive in the garage, I usually see Lilly's head pop up in the window of the door to the back yard, but the window is empty. 

When I walk in the door, Lilly holds a toy in her mouth, wagging her tail so hard that her back half shakes vigorously back and forth. She was always so excited to see me and show me her toy. If I chased her with the toy around the house, it made her day. Now I come home to an empty house.

If I was sitting on the couch watching TV, Lilly would scratch once on the back door, indicating her need to go out. A few minutes later, I'd hear another scratch. She was ready to come inside. Was she satisfied? No. Not five minutes after stepping inside, she was ready to go back out. Then let in. Then let out. Then let in. You get the trend. I was so annoyed by it at the time. "Just make up your mind, Lilly!" I really wish I heard a scratch at the door. 

As I sit on our back patio, looking out at our yard, I miss seeing Lilly lying on her back in the grass, getting sun on her belly, perfectly content. I miss seeing her chase rabbits in Tennessee, play in the snow in Colorado, attack waves on the beach in California.

I miss my dog.

I think this is the day after we got her

Soon after we got married, I was reassigned from Florida to Vandenberg Air Force Base, on the California central coast. A couple months after we arrived, we decided to get a dog. I refused to pay for a pet when there are so many in need of adoption, so I went to the pound in nearby Santa Maria. Betsy was at work, so it was just me. I took several different dogs out to the exercise yard to see if I clicked with any of them. Every dog was completely uninterested in me. They were busy sniffing around the yard, or looking at other dogs, or gazing outside the fence. The only dog that paid me any attention was a medium-sized black dog with a white spot on her chest. She was eager to play with me and loved to lick my face, my chest, my hands, my legs, whatever was in reach.

I'd grown up with black labs, and I just assumed this dog was a young black lab who wasn't yet fully grown. I had no idea she was part Pit Bull. I think if I had known I wouldn't have cared because I was pretty ignorant about dog breeds, and this dog was so sweet. I excitedly called Betsy and told her, "I've found our dog!" Betsy hesitantly agreed to let me adopt her. When Betsy first laid eyes on her, she thought I'd brought home a Rottweiler puppy, which was NOT one of her favorite breeds (she'd grown up with Greyhounds). Turns out, we were both wrong about what she was but it didn't make any difference. 

What a sweetheart

Since I'd gotten to pick out the dog, Betsy got to name her. She'd always wanted a dog named Lilly, so we had ourselves a mutt named Lilly (her full name was Lilly-of-the-Valley-Poo-Paws-Liebenow). She was about 10 months old in early Jan 2003. Santa Maria's animal control found her wandering around the hills and farms of the local area. She had bruises all over her backside so the shelter thought she'd been abused. Maybe she was abandoned by her previous owners or maybe she was able to escape? She was always skittish around men. She warmed up to me pretty fast though. In fact, she probably became a little too attached to us.

Just Chillin'

Lilly did NOT like to be left alone. Whenever we left her by herself, she would destroy some new part of the house. If we left her in the back yard, she would dig giant holes everywhere, trying to catch the gophers who resided under the lawn. When we gave her the run of the house, she tore down our window blinds. If any scrap of food was left on the counter, Lilly found a way to reach it. She ate a whole plate of brownies from the counter before we learned the extent of her capabilities. Those chocolate brownies didn't phase her. She had an iron stomach. We tried leaving Lilly in our large laundry room when we left the house, thinking there wasn't anything she could do in there. When we got home, we discovered she'd eaten a hole in the wall and chewed up some of the linoleum floor. We decided it might be best to get another dog so she could have someone to play with. Unfortunately, Lilly was not the easiest dog to get along with.

Lilly was not so good with other dogs. About the only dog that Lilly got along with was our second dog, Daisy. Daisy was a 6 year-old rescued Greyhound. And by "got along with" I mean she ignored Lilly except when she felt the need to put our mutt in her place. On those occasions Daisy would bark sharply once and Lilly would submissively roll over. 

Daisy didn't stoop to playing such silly games

Other than Daisy, Lilly typically was not fond of other dogs. On one occasion here in Tennessee, I was out walking Lilly a few streets over from our own when we saw a dog in the front yard of a dilapidated house. Wagging his tail, the dog eagerly ran up to Lilly to give her a friendly greeting. Lilly only saw this as an attack on me and she fiercely tore away from my hold on the leash and proceeded to kick the poor, friendly dog's ass. We had to cover their vet expenses for that one.

Lilly was not a very good leash dog. No matter what type of leash we used, Lilly would pull with all her might. She was in a hurry to smell the next bush, flower, or yard and the pesky person holding the leash couldn't go fast enough. We took her to a dog trainer in Colorado who was highly recommended in order to break her of the habit. After two weeks of daily lessons, the trainer told us that she'd given up. Lilly was, "one in a million dogs who simply will never learn to walk on a leash!" 

Graduation from Petsmart obedience school; we expected great things

While she wasn't the best dog on her leash, Lilly was awesome in the car. She didn't hang her head out the window. She didn't bother the driver. She would sit up, alert, with her eyes straight ahead. Just like a person riding in the car next to me. If it was a nice day, not too hot or too cold, and I was out running errands, I'd park the car with the windows all the way down and Lilly would stay right where she was. I had complete faith that she wouldn't jump out, wouldn't chew up anything. She was the perfect riding companion.

"Why did you stick me back here with Katie?"

Once, when Betsy and I were bringing the dogs from Colorado to Tennessee for Christmas, we got stuck on the freeway in a blizzard. We ended up trapped on that road for hours, waiting for the snow to stop and the snowplows to catch up. The whole time, Lilly sat up between Betsy and I and laid her head on my shoulder.

There was just one instance when Lilly didn't behave herself in the car. We were driving down to the California coast from our house at Vandenberg AFB. The base is right on the water and has its own private beaches. Our windows were all the way down as we enjoyed the fresh ocean breezes. Just before we reached the beach, we passed a small herd of deer grazing by the side of the road. Before I could even think about the fact that the window was open, Lilly shot out of our moving car, and took off after the deer. The deer disappeared over the next hill with Lilly hot on their heels. But of course the deer were never in danger. I don't think Lilly could successfully outrun any mammal, but she certainly loved to try.

Lilly loved to chase other animals. No matter how big or small, Lilly would chase it as fast as her little legs would carry her. Here is one memorable incident from 2005 (when we lived in Colorado) that I related in our Christmas letter:

We had a really pleasant visit from Betsy’s mother, Susan, and Aunts, April and Carol.  Betsy had been frantically cleaning the house beforehand when all of a sudden several things happened at once. 

A)            Susan, April, and Carol drove up our home street honking their horn and raising a ruckus

B)            Betsy went out to meet them

C)             Lilly jumped through the door after Betsy having been cooped up all morning

D)            I picked that moment to call Betsy on her cell phone, momentarily distracting her

E)             Lilly saw a rabbit

Well, little did we realize that Lilly looks at cute little bunny rabbits in the same manner that a Chechen looks at a Russian, or a Shiite looks at an Sunni.  There is some incident that no one remembers dating back during the time of Abraham that will forever split the two paths of Lilly’s ilk from the prestigious bunny rabbit line which recently saw an evolutionary advance in the “white-tailed” variety.  Immediately, upon seeing the cute flash of that tail, Lilly launched her intifada, replete with high-pitched yelps and squeals that had never been emitted by our sweet angel to this date (oh, except for when she sees fireworks--more on that later).  Then she tore after the suddenly frantic and quite speedy bunny in the hope that she could wipe out the species once and for all and save her nearby mother and Great Aunts from its wrath (such a brave girl we have).  I couldn’t hear the whole incident through the phone, but I hear that the bunny wisely just ran under a parked car down the street.  Lilly, of course, knows that large inanimate objects exist in the world and they should probably be avoided during a chase of such magnitude.  But that day the stress of the situation and the close proximity of her quarry caused her to run at full speed into the parked car, momentarily dazing her and spoiling our hope that she might go on to doggy medical school and support her parents in their old age.  Lilly has scars from this incident and now a vendetta against parked cars.

"You're just lucky this fence is holding me back!"

Lilly was not fond of thunderstorms or fireworks. Fireworks in particular really set her off. We were spending New Year's with Katie ("Hey Brian, watcha doin.") and her husband, Jimmy, at their house in Atlanta. Here is another excerpt from the same letter:

On New Year’s Eve, the family was visiting Katie and Jimmy where we hoped to start off 2005 with some spectacular fireworks.  Little did we realize that Lilly looks at fireworks in the same manner that a Serb looks at a Muslim, or a Palestinian looks at an Israeli.  There is some incident that no one remembers dating back to fireworks' development in China that will forever split the two paths of Lilly’s ilk from the dubious, but established, line of fireworks leading to the latest advance: the 300 Shot Whistling Saturn Missile AKA “Armageddon”.  Immediately, upon hearing the first rumblings of this firework, Lilly, who was actually locked in the house at the time, launched her intifada, replete with high-pitched yelps and squeals that had never been emitted by our sweet angel to this date.  Then she tore through Jimmy and Katie’s door as though it were some piece of paper machete’ and bravely charged the offending firecracker in the hope that she could wipe out the species once and for all and save Betsy from its wrath (there has to be some selfless reason for this right?).  I couldn’t see the whole incident through the smokey air because I think I was trying not to spill my margarita, but I hear that the firecrackers got the best of our little trooper that day.  She was wheezing for a week and still bears scars.  But the war continues… 

Though fireworks weren't her forte, Lilly loved the beach and the snow. At the beach in California, Betsy would stand at the bottom of a sand dune and I would stand at the top. We would call Lilly back and forth, trying to wear her out. She never tired of pumping her short legs, churning up the sand, then tumbling down, over and over. When she got out in the water, she would vigorously attack the waves and try to drink as much salt water as she could take in. Shortly after getting her fill of salt water, she was extremely embarrassed when it came shooting out of her butt like a fire hose (the inside of the car got a nice salt water bath that day).

The snow was one big playground for Lilly. When we got deep snow in Colorado she ran all around the neighborhood with wild abandon.

Colorado snow is the best!

So many memories of Lilly cross my mind and it's hard to believe she's gone. Grace's black violin case is sitting in the living room and whenever I see it out of the corner of my eye, I see Lilly laying on the wood floor. She was there during cancer treatment. Betsy sneaked her into the doctor's office when I was getting chemo. She was with me on so many walks up the road to Garden of the Gods park in Colorado Springs. As I slowly weakened from radiation treatment, Lilly was always there. She didn't care how I looked or what I could do; she just wanted her belly rubbed. Then she had to go and get cancer in the same place I had my tumor. It was so hard on that last day when we put her to sleep. I can't put it into words. She'd spent the night at the vet and when she saw Betsy and I she was so happy. She went to the door, ready to leave, but the cancer had grown too much and was too aggressive. She didn't understand, and it happened so fast. It's been a week, but I think I'm still in shock and grieving. We picked up the box with her ashes and we plan to spread them on the beach in California. She'll always be a California girl.

One of the hardest days of my life

One more story I have to share. Lilly hated going to the vet. As soon as we pulled up to the parking lot at the vet's office, Lilly would go bonkers. She would get so nervous; she couldn't sit still. Our dog would constantly pull on her leash or jump up on us or pace nervously. She must have shed half her fur off every visit. The vet, with their shots and anal thermometers accompanied by the sounds of other dogs getting tortured in adjacent rooms, was Lilly's least favorite place in the world.

Except for one day. 

I was with Lilly in the waiting area when a woman walked out of one of the examination rooms. She was visibly upset. The staff at the vet were very solemn and told her to wait a moment while they tallied her bill. She sat down across from Lilly and I, put her head in her hands and softly cried. I knew what happened and my heart went out to her, but I didn't appreciate until now the extent of her sorrow. Lilly knew immediately though. My dog calmed down instantly, walked over to the grieving woman, licked her hand, and sat right next to her. She asked if she could pet my dog for a while and I tearfully nodded, amazed at Lilly's empathy. Lilly just sat, with her head on the woman's lap, as she sobbed and gently stroked Lilly's head. In the place that she feared the most, Lilly offered herself to comfort a grieving soul. This is a day that will always stick out in my mind when I think of my dog. Lilly ate our wall when we were away, chased a rabbit into a parked car, tried to drink the ocean, swallowed fireworks, and was impossible to walk. But she understood the world so much better than I gave her credit for. 

The day we put her to sleep, I wish there was a dog at the vet to comfort me, but the waiting room was empty; just Betsy and I crying over our lost companion.