How I shall miss you my best furry girl-friend of the last decade.
Every time I pulled my coat from the cupboard to turn around and you’d be there. Tail wagging. Wet nose smelling. Long tongue lolling. Eyes asking, me too, Mom? If I told you not this time, you would turn and lay down. Disappointed but disciplined. Stoic.
Every time, without fail, the cheese came out of the fridge. From the far reaches of the house you came a trotting.
Running clothes on, Dad? Let’s go, your body said. I’m ready.
Danger in our yard? You would inform us with an important chuff or alarm bark, and make us feel safe, especially from the most feared: a cat! You were ON it! But should a friend come by, there was nary a woof. Not even if years had passed.
I see your water bowl, food bowl, your leash and collar, your tie-out rope, your bed of old blankets. All are sad reminders of your doggy-ness. Your unconditional love of us. Your pack whom you would protect, without question.
This morning I awoke and waited for your bedside greeting. Every day for ten years your nose was there nudging my hand. Your tail wagging us into a new day. Walking to my office where you would take up your spot under my desk. I would warm my feet under your furry belly. Time to go home? Up, shake, let’s go.
But the last months something was wrong. A growth grew. An infection. Blood. A smell that was full of not good. Piddly pee. Howling at the vet’s office – singing the song of your people, the Vet said. Wagging tail stopped wagging and now clamped under to hold the foreign growth on your haunch. You would sandwich yourself between my legs and the cupboard when I was chopping. You would pant and pace. You were not yourself. Oh dear. We would have to face it. You were not feeling well, dear Lady, searching our faces with those pretty brown eyes.
Those hard days are over. We have let you go. We will not forget your sweet furriness and your wonderful doggy-ness. You were love itself.
Situation Normal 
Lady was a dog, to be sure, but she was just as much “person”, too.
In first and especially second year of university, I can remember days so difficult that just to get out of bed, I had to lay still until I thought of a reason to. Sometimes, that reason was Lady. In second year there was a time when I came to stay at the house during Reading Week; a time that I was feeling particularly crappy about life in general. Of course, being around you and the family was a big part of what helped make me feel better by the end of the week, but Lady was a HUGE part of that. Even at the times when I took her out for a walk in the most brutal of cold and snow and in the dark, she managed to help me think a little bit more, and a little bit closer, about how good life really is and can be. Her waggy tail reminded me that, even in the worst of times, she was always a friend. “You’ve got a friend in me”, her eyes would say. Her howl was so hilarious. The way she would pretend she wan’t on the carpet, but her front paws would be on the edge of it… and then she would creep forward a bit so that her legs were on the carpet… eventually she would manage to sneak her whole body onto it just to be close to us on the couch. Her love was infinite and unconditional.
Seeing her face light up when I walked in the door, even after a year or two away, post-graduation – there was nothing like seeing that. She would whine and wag her tail and seem to recognize me as she licked my hands and face. That was one of the biggest highlights every time I visited. It brings more than one tear to my eye to think that I will never get to walk with her again in the quiet of a Nova Scotia winter evening… never again get to wake up and have her waiting for me out in the kitchen… never let her take us to all sorts of beautiful, unknown places in town by her nose alone.
If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that she got me through more than one hard day, and I hope that little piggy squeaker I gave her at least in part let her know how much I loved her. She wasn’t even my dog, but I know she knows I thought of her as my family, too.
I will always miss you, Lady.
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Oh my goodness, what a tribute from a close and dear friend, kinda sister/aunt or whateves. You captured her so well. Her distinct personality..the creeping onto the carpet…the looking up to recognize your face..the waggy-tail walks to anywhere based on scent and wind and nature. Thank you Taylor. Your comments mean a lot as you were such a big part of all of our lives for your Acadia years. xoxoxo
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A beautifully written tribute to your lost friend, Martha. So sorry for your loss.
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Thank you Eric. She was a good girl. No doubt about it. She knew a lot of words but we are lucky that we didn’t have to use the dreaded ‘bad dog’ ones almost ever. So well behaved and sweet (unless there was another dog or a CAT about…ha ha).
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Thanks for sharing your lovely Lady Jane. What a loving tribute.
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Thank you for reading and for your comments. They are both appreciated and cherished.
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Such a sweet remembrance. Thank you for sharing your reflections and how you say “good-bye, farewell” to such a good friend.
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Oh no. Tears again. She was a good girl. We loved her well.
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Dear Morgan
I feel for you as tears roll down my face for the loss of Lady. Lady was a true best friend, thankyou for sharing .. I would like to hear more about Lady…maybe one day a story of her life.
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She was a good dog. I will write more and thank you for asking. Lots of tears but feeling better that she is not suffering, as brave as she was with it. 🐺🙏
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