Remembering Lily
Tiger Lily
January 16, 2002 – July 7, 2017
It’s taken me some time to write Lily’s obituary post.
I don’t know if I’ve been avoiding it because it’s just too hard to write it or if I think it needs to be perfect. But enough is enough. So here goes, imperfections and all…
Lily was our matriarch.
The second service dog we raised (the first one to stay forever), Lily had a clear set of rules by which she lived her life. Feisty and fearless, Lily was a force. She was serious. She had a work ethic I wish I had. She’d do just about anything and never wanted a training session to end.
She was a Labrador, but she didn’t really like to retrieve and she wasn’t really into swimming.
She would retrieve if it was part of her job (if we were in a training session and I asked her to get her leash, for instance), but she was not the Labrador who would chase the ball for hours on end. And while she didn’t think too much of swimming, we couldn’t keep her out of Lake Anna where she’d fish all day long. Back and forth, head cocked to the side looking for minnows and blue gill, she’d be up to her belly in the lake from 9a until dark if we didn’t make her get out and rest.
She was one (of the three) reasons we went to the lake every year for vacation.
(The other two reasons were Nemo and Tango.) We built a ramp so the dogs could get out of the water more efficiently and Lily navigated the ramp like a seasoned sailor. Her balance and love of all things unstable served her well at the lake where she loved jumping on the Jet Ski with us and tooling around the lake for as long as we’d let her. She jumped on the wake board and would hang out on it all day with us. If we moved toward the boathouse, she was the first in (and the last out). She was also notorious for taking a flying leap into the wheelbarrow whenever we had it out — she delighted in the challenge of keeping her balance in the wheelbarrow whether it was empty or filled with dirt. The more unstable the surface, the more she loved it.
While she wasn’t the retriever of the family (Tango held that title), she delighted in running interference after we threw Tango’s bumper into the lake. She’d bark, jump, grab the ruff of his neck and do everything she could to cause mischief for Tango, who lived to retrieve. Interfering in Tango’s retrieving was one of the few instances of silliness that Lily allowed herself.
We joked that Lily was the stereotypical librarian who wore her hair in a severe bun and shushed everyone else all the time.
She was the rule creator and enforcer. Playing was almost beneath her on any regular day. Playing was for dogs and Lily obviously didn’t group herself among “those things.” Her disdain for playing was almost comical.
Two or maybe three times a year, though, Lily would let her hair down, change out of her conservative suit, and let it rip.
And watch out! She was a WILD woman! We loved seeing that side of her come out, even though we knew “Wild Lily” would disappear almost as quickly as she arrived. She would solicit play from the others, she’d blatantly steal something just to get our attention, or she’d just straight up jump on Tango or Nemo to get them to notice her and her craziness. Her “hair down” moments were short, but intense, and then she’d be back to Librarian Lily.
Lily got along with all the dogs that came through our house, but she had a special affinity for Tango, particularly as she got older.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to find her curled up with Tango in his bed, tucked in as tight as a little bug in a rug. She began to follow Tango and looked for him for clues as to what was going on as her hearing and vision deteriorated in her senior years. She was clearly comforted by his presence.
Lily was an athlete. She could keep up with the boys, often outrunning and outmaneuvering them whenever they got too close and she was in danger of “being captured.” For many years, she was my walking partner. She pushed me hard, too! It wasn’t uncommon for me to jog just to keep up with her fast pace. She kept up her walks until she was about 15, although her speed did diminish a bit the last six months of her life.
We loved all her different personalities and enjoyed her growing old with us.
A few years ago, we noticed her hearing was diminished. A year or two later, it was clear that her eyesight was fading, too. I was amused when Lily started “getting into trouble” by standing on the dishwasher door to lick the plates or when she’d shop from the recycle bin. “Look at her, learning to live a little,” I’d say.
It became clear about a year later that what we were seeing was the beginning of canine cognitive dysfunction.
Her “living a little” turned into staring at the wall, going to the wrong side of the door (going to the hinged side instead of the open side to go out, for example), walking endless circles, loss of house training, and other little slips that were clearly more than normal aging. We made accommodations for her. We put the mattresses directly on the floor so she could get into and out of bed easily (she began to fall out of bed frequently as her eyesight got worse, and I was afraid she’d seriously hurt herself). I got her a raised feeder when she lost her balance putting her head down to drink or eat. We developed an alternative form of communication that didn’t rely on her hearing. (I’d tap her lightly on her back, which caused her to turn in my direction, and then I could direct her to move where I needed her to go.)
She also had what I think was degenerative myelopathy.
She also had what I think was degenerative myelopathy.So while she wasn’t in any pain, she gradually lost the ability to control her hind end. Lily hated our help and so I tried to let her do as much on her own as she could. We knew, though, that there’d come a day when she wouldn’t be able to function without our help. We tried lots of things to help her (sticky spray for her feet, rug runners on all our hardwood or tile floors, sticky treads for the floor, etc.) and those helped for about a year, but on her last day with us, she couldn’t stand up even with our assistance.
She didn’t languish. One day she could walk, the next day she couldn’t.
And while she wasn’t in pain, she also wasn’t able to do anything for herself so we made the decision to let her go.
Our fabulous veterinarian came to our house and we all gathered ’round, feeding Lily bacon as she was sedated and finally euthanized. It was peaceful, it was quick, it was merciful. And that’s what she deserved. She gave life every single day she had. We laugh and say we think she and Nemo must have struck a bargain at some point and he gave her some of his days — he died at barely 11 years old while Lily lived to a fabulous 15.5 years.
We took her the very next morning to be cremated. We waited there for her and she was back home with us less than 18 hours after she died.
She was a tiny little Labrador, but man, did she have a large personality.
We will miss that little sprite for the rest of our days.
My Trooper was a Lab who would play fetch with a tennis ball all day if you could throw the ball that long. As he got older he returned the ball back to us slower. I had hoped that he would pass from a heart attack while chasing the ball as it was what he loved doing. Sadly we had to assist him when he could no longer walk. We buried him out back next to Bianca & Willow. He knew both. I’m so sorry for your loss of Lily. She’s a beauty. Sending love & prayers!
What a beautiful tribute to your girl! Sounds like Lily lived a wonderful life. I stumbled on this article (still not sure how) while searching for some advice about my senior pup. While your article brought tears to my eyes, it also made me happy to hear how Lily and you handled her aging- and all of the challenges that come with it. Thanks for sharing Lily’s story. All the best.
What a wonderful tribute, it brought tears as we are still recovering from losing our Springer Spaniel 8 months ago. I thought you might like to read the obituary I wrote for him, as I’m happy to see others bond as deeply and grieve as much as us.
In Loving Memory of Scout, our faithful English Springer Spaniel
July 23, 2004 – December 5, 2016
Scout crossed the bridge peacefully at Park Range Vet Clinic after a brief struggle with cancer.
He is survived by his loving family, Beth & Laurier, Katie & Kurtis and their children Elijah & Izabel, Amy & Tyler & their cat Milo, Donovan & Carla, Stephen, his Grandma Pearl & his Memere, his special friend and caregiver Elizabeth Moar, babysitter & spoiler Laurie Domoslai, special neighbor Gwen, and many, many relatives, friends, admirers, neighbors & their dogs.
Purchased from a breeder in Saskatoon at the age of 10 weeks, Scout slipped with equal ease into our family and our hearts. It was almost as though he’d been waiting for us. It was love at first “sigh;” those large & expressive dark brown eyes, whimsical freckles and brown patches, oversized feet and comical ever-wagging stub of a tail. He was named after the inquisitive & charming main character in Harper Lee’s classic, “To Kill a Mockingbird” but soon acquired variations on the name: Scouter, Scooter, Duder, Sprout, Pouter, Trout etc., although at times he must have thought his name was actually, “Oh no, you didn’t!” “Get down from there!” “Not again!” “You naughty boy” or “What the heck did you do now?!!!”
As a pup Scout had a penchant for chewing Katie’s and Amy’s shoes, (seeming to pick out their shoes over everyone else’s, he obviously had inherent good taste) and teething on everything from the legs of the coffee table to our favorite shirts. What a rascal he was! We had our hands full to say the least as we attempted to civilize this bundle of fur, with varying degrees of success.
Scout participated in both puppy and obedience classes, starting out as the most hyperactive, wild, stubborn student in the class, practically pulling the arm from the socket of the person trying to get him to obey. Who was training whom we wondered, but by the end of the sessions, he won “Most Improved Dog”. He lived to please us, and eventually learned to obey hand signals, and performed many tricks to the delight of an audience; everything from playing dead to waiting for the “okay” while salivating at a treat placed on his nose! We even enrolled Scout in agility classes to help him expend boundless energy, but being a social dog, he would leave the obstacle course if a canine friend caught his eye.
He grew from an out-of-control puppy into an energetic, athletic and handsome dog. Scout loved the outdoors and ran endlessly at Little Red park with his family and friends, particularly with Stephen, and our friend Elizabeth. He loved swimming and would lay down in any rain puddle while on a walk or jump into an algae-filled swamp if a lake wasn’t nearby. Scout enjoyed winter, and “dolphined” and tunneled through snowbanks for meters, and jumped for tossed snowballs which he caught with great accuracy. In summer he sniffed every blade of grass and followed gopher, rabbit and squirrel trails in the park with the seriousness of a forensic detective. He relaxed and sunbathed on the lawn in the back yard or on a patch of sunlight shining on the floor through a window like it was his job!
His distaste for felines was rivalled only by his outright hatred of squirrels. Scout had an ongoing war with neighborhood squirrels and was fiercely determined to catch one. He was so “on guard” that we had to spell out the word “squirrel” rather than speak it, because at the mere mention of it, he would launch himself bullet-like out the door to the trees, where he would literally attempt to climb the trunk in effort to catch the taunting, chattering varmint!!! Poor Scout, he never did catch a squirrel!
It was his sensitive nature that most charmed us, Scout’s ability to sense when his comforting presence was needed. He came to Edmonton to be part of Donovan’s recovery from his lung transplant, and gave Donovan the needed incentive to become strong enough to run again. What joy for both man and dog when Donovan was finally able to run with his beloved Scout. Scout made his dutiful way downstairs to Stephen’s lap or feet while he studied, he lazed in bed with Amy on weekend visits. He was intuitive, intelligent, playful, serious, protective, a pushover, a friend to all.
Beth will miss her gardening pal, her constant shadow while watering and weeding. Amy will miss her snuggler and recipient of toys, sweaters & special treats. Laurier will miss the big chicken who headed under a bed the minute noisy tools came out, especially the dreaded red air compressor. Elijah & Izabel and their parents will miss tossing Scout treats and learning how to make him listen, and getting him to perform his repertoire of tricks. Donovan will miss his photography model, capturing the heart of our dog in his beautiful portraits, literally hundreds of them. Stephen will miss his faithful friend, the dog who turned inside out knowing he was being taken for a run, and his foot-warming “study buddy”.
Wee Care Preschool will miss “Scout Stories”, dog antics shared in class with the students and Mrs. Laurie on a daily basis. There was never a shortage of material, never a time Scout didn’t provide amusement; from tales of him snatching cookies off the counter, to unwrapping Christmas gifts, sleeping on forbidden beds and sofas then sheepishly sneaking away when caught, to the hiding of gardening gloves, the tormenting of cats foolish enough to enter the yard, the tracking in of muddy paws, the fight to trim nails, shaking bathwater water all over and soaking his owners! Oh Scout, you naughty, wonderful dog!
Our hearts imagined he’d live forever, although our heads knew he couldn’t. Scout got sick this fall; a suspected malignant tumour had grown on his side. He grew lethargic and lost his appetite, but still managed to amuse us by snatching a box of chocolates left on the counter when we went Christmas shopping. We thought his thieving days were long gone!!! In the end we nursed ourselves as we cared for him. We gave in to all the no-no’s and let him have his heart’s desires…all the “people food” he wanted as well as cat treats and tinned cat food (who knew he’d love this? Did he eat it just to spite cats?), serving him homemade soup from a spoon as he lay in bed, hiding his pills in cheese cubes, letting him sleep and cuddle on the sofa with us. We watched home movies of Scout from over the years and looked at pictures of him while reminiscing and stroking the velvet of his face. We agonized as to when the time would be right to say our final goodbye, and realized at last that the “right” day would never come; that the struggle between heart and head is an impossible one, with no winner.
We loved him until the very end, to the last trip to the vet’s murmuring our endearments and affection while he lay on a large luxurious pillow, a final gift from Amy, surrounded by his people, surrounded by love. It was over so fast. We are incredibly grateful to Dr. John Kessler and staff at Park Range for their empathy and professionalism at such a difficult time. We donated Scout’s body to the vet college to honor his selfless and giving nature, in hope that he may provide insight into disease and benefit other four – legged friends.
Scout, your kennel now stands empty. Your leash hangs waiting at the door. There is no clicking of your nails in the hallway today, no sighing after you turn round and round and lay down on your pillow with an ungraceful whump. No Scout underfoot in the kitchen at the sound of supper preparations, no dog sitting patiently by the pantry door for his food. No barking at the sound of footsteps at the front door. No dragging of your pillow to present to each and every person who enters our home. No wet nose on our palms. No searching the downstairs for your quivering body during thunderstorms. No protective growl when we intrude on your territory. No white hair sticking all over our clothes. No feet to wipe, no wrestling you away from the door so guests can leave. There is only an enormous hole in our lives.
If God is kind, and we know He is, you’ll be there at heaven’s gate to greet us, your pillow in tow, no doubt ready for a game of fetch with a stick you’ll almost, but not quite, return. You were a good boy Scout, a good dog, and we loved being your people.