About My Best Friend
Tonight, I had to say goodbye to my ride or die; my first “child.” My dog Lola.
Lola was something else: I got her when she was 8 weeks old and I remember thinking, “I think this dog is a little slow…” She had a gigantic head for her body, and she’d watch her siblings with awe and amazement but wouldn’t engage with them. She was more of the overseer, I think. She was so tiny I could hold her in one hand. I got her when I was 24 years old, months after the death of my first Chihuahua, Sammy. I was so heartbroken after losing Sammy that I promised myself I would get another tri-colored Chihuahua just like her, to honor her memory. So alas, I found Lola and that was that.
Lola came into our lives right after we’d bought our house and before we were married. My husband at the time trained her to do all the tricks, to go potty outside and to walk on a leash. I remember him running her around the neighborhood; she was all of maybe 8 lbs at the time, a stark and silly contrast to his 6’ 1”, 200 pound frame. She had a piggy that she adored, and loved all the dog things: laying in the sun, bones and chasing after her toys. She was a good girl.
She moved across the country with us twice; rode in the car 4 trips across the United States like a champ. Somewhere along the way we left piggy at a hotel in the South and I spent the rest of her life looking for a dupe. I never did find one. But I did manage to find a sheep that was made from the same material and thus, her forever friend, Sheepy, was born.
Lola was a piece of work as a pup; she was very protective of us (me especially) and would often bite people. It wasn’t until we had our kids that she cooled her jets with the aggression. They wanted to love her so bad but she didn’t care much for them: they were too fast and scary for such a little dog. So she kept her distance during the day, but it didn’t stop her from going into their rooms at night to check their cribs. She was a good girl.
Lola, aside from my family, has been the one constant in my life. She has protected me, comforted me, and supported me through some of the brightest and darkest days and nights. She used to sleep under all my covers with me, in the crook of the backs of my knees or against my stomach. She kept me warm like a little hot pocket. She was curious and sharp as a tack: she knew lots of tricks and words, and I swear to God she understood me. She was my girl in my house full of boys. She was a good girl.
Lola was such a beautiful dog; she was black and white and tan, my three favorite colors together. She had the most beautiful markings and was a specimen of physical aptitude. She was strong and had the prettiest, shiniest coat. She would run all around the house, up and down stairs, all over the backyard. Full of life, vitality and spunk. How I wish I had half of what she had these days.
But over the years, I had to watch her slowly deteriorate. She got older and her face grew whiter; her eyes started to cloud and her hearing started to disappear. And in the last six months, she didn’t bark anymore or get excited when we came home. She just slept and took life easy, alternating her rest between her bed in my dining room to her bed in my bedroom. I would fall asleep listening to the sounds of her subtle snores, bringing me peace and comfort knowing she wasn’t far from me.
Tonight is going to be a quiet night. I’ll miss the sound of her breath, especially knowing that I made the decision to take that from her. But I am so very grateful that I had final moments with her, to tell her how much she meant to me; to tell her that I am forever grateful to her for taking such good care of me over the past 14 years, for always being there. I’m glad I got to tell her how much I love her and how special she was to me. And what a good girl she was.
Death is hard for most people but I tend to look at it as a new adventure: her pain is gone, her vision and hearing restored. She’s been reunited with her long lost pink piggy that was left behind so many years ago. And the best part is, she’s free and able to visit us anytime she wants. My door will always be open to her; her relentless love, her fierce protection and her undying support. I can’t wait to see her in my dreams and feel her around me. I miss her so much already. Rest in peace my sweet girl.