To Lilly

I remember wanting a black lab way back when I lived in the studio apartment.  It had to be a black lab and I knew I would name her Lilly.  We would walk around Green Lake, I told myself. 


She was a Pennsylvanian dog and I found her three thousand miles away from that man made lake.   A little girl cared for her and the large black liter, all carried into the kitchen of her mother's house in a red wagon.  Our new puppy circled around a few times and I kept my eye on her as she disappeared into the pack.  Two weeks later we drove up to the house to pick her up.  She ran in the yard with the little girl, plump and much more awake than the last time.  It felt then and now like it was an autumn day, crumpled leaves scattering in the wind and the warm sun not yet retiring for the season.  But, it was February, cold and icy.  She always liked the winter months. 

That night we got home after dark.  I carried her around the back of the apartment and whispered in her velvet ears all the things we would do together.  "We will hike.  And jump in lakes.  We will camp and run and I will show you everything."   She never cried at night, except for a few whimpers to wake me for a 2AM relief.  Her strong body would barrel out of the tiny crate, I'd scoop her and press my nose into the top of her brow.  She always smelled like a puppy there.  Always. 

Her legs were so stocky and her expression so serious.  For the most part, she became my shadow--following me into every room, her side pressed into my legs.  Her coat was always silky smooth and shiny, with a wave along her back. 

 

When she barked, she jumped.  Straight up into the air, all four paws leaving the ground.  The bark was deep and purposeful.  But, she always stopped when requested.  As a pup, she barked at herself in the mirror.  Once I videotaped the ordeal and played it back, watching her dart in and out of the room for the voice and seeming concerned for what the barking was telling that dog in the mirror. 

In the Summer, she chased grape tomatoes in the grass and allowed the heat to sink deep into her coat. 

In the Winter, she ate snow and leaped into the banks.  She loved the snow the most. 

Every Winter in Pennsylvania, we day tripped to Little Buffalo and ran wild.  The park and foot prints were only ours. 

While we never did make it to Green Lake, we did everything I promised.  We hiked the Appalachian Trail, swam in lakes and oceans, we camped and ran. 

The night we put her down, after a long line of painful surgeries and too many unnecessary sufferings, I stood in the dark kitchen and stared out the window.  It felt like an alternate reality.  I was numb and my eyes were swollen.  I looked at the moon and remembered the night we ran to the field.  I had needed to get out of the house, needed to feel free and fulfilled in life.  It was probably in the middle of nursing school or some other stressful time.  So, I grabbed her leash and we ran.  Once we reached the field, I kicked my shoes off and we sprinted across the dewy grass.  My lungs filled with hot air and my muscles switched with endorphins.  She swerved back and forth across the field, smiling and breathing hard. We both looked up at the sky and felt the relief.  It was the night which represented Lilly the most. 

I wanted to run and find her from the kitchen.  I wanted to go back to the week before when everything was fine.  I wanted to smell her puppy smell and wrap my arms around her sturdy body.  But, I knew we loved her so much to make the right decision.  She will always be the best dog and for now I will settle for memories and the dreams I have at night. 

Lilly helped me out of a deep depression.  She allowed me to come into my own in a new part of the country, far from home.  She was there through everything and never left my side. 

I will always remember the way she crawled under the covers at night and the way she pinned our hands in the morning to lick our fingers.  I will never forget how stingy she was with kisses but how lovingly she gave only K hugs. 

I will always be grateful for the moment she looked deep into my eyes at the vet.  Her amber colored eyes telling me it was time and it was perfectly fine.  And though it will always be painful, I will hold in my heart the calmness she displayed on the table as we told her what a good girl she was.  "I will never get another black lab.  I promise.  You are the only one I wanted" I told her, as her body became heavy and the life faded away.  She was ready but I wasn't. 

I will forever miss her deep sighs of comfort.  The way she waited at the bottom of the stairs for us in the morning.  Her love of sunny spots and hatred of water.  And, how each and every good memory over the last five years--included her. 

Good bye my sweet girl.