The Story of Lily

Sometimes we read a story so good that we push ourselves to dive deep into it very quickly. The words leap from the pages into our minds and boomerang right back into our hearts. We turn page after page, binding ourselves and our time to only focus on the goodness of what is being told. It’s usually about half-way into a great story that we force ourselves to settle in and slow down because we know we are moving much too quickly toward the end. We want to linger a little longer in the words and savor the sweetness. We want to know what happens but we walk a little slowly through the chapters. When we finally do finish the last sentence, we are not ready for the story to end. We hold those last pages open and hesitate for awhile until we are finally forced to flip the last page and close the back cover.

That is how I feel about the Story of Lily.

We were only going to be a one dog family. Sadie was our gorgeous, regal, soul-reading, brilliant girl. I couldn’t imagine a dog could be any more perfect than she. Sadie’s story is tucked away tightly in the deepest parts of my heart, but her place in our family was no less than significant, and one day I hope to write more about that beautiful creature. She was the one who taught us how to love outside of ourselves. A little mischievous at times, Sadie knew what she could get away with and where the boundaries were. She was the most giving dog I’ve ever known. So when we brought Lily home, it was Sadie who taught us how to love another dog as much as we loved her but in a much different way. I think all parents of children or fur babies will agree that no two souls are alike and figuring out personalities is part of the fun of building a family.

Discovering Lily was like finding a part of our hearts that we didn’t know was missing. We later realized she became the chapter of a novel that connected all the dots for our little family. From the moment we met her, we knew we couldn’t live without her and that she belonged with us. While we gave Lily her own bed, food bowls, collars and toys, it was truly Sadie who taught her how to function in our family. Lily followed Sadie’s every step, grabbing at her fur or her ears in those puppy days. And as she grew, it didn’t take her long to figure out that Sadie just rolled with the flow. Though she was our second, Lily demanded to be first. First one out the door on our daily walks and play times. Always a neck ahead of Sadie on the leash as if she was running the Kentucky Derby. First one to swim to the ball or dummy thrown into the pond. And the first one back to the water’s edge where we stood summer after summer. She was always the first one pouncing into the woods for the tennis ball. And always first in my lap when I’d sit down.

Unless it was a tennis ball, Lily was never interested in her toys unless Sadie had one. Then she’d snatch it from her and run off with it beckoning Sadie to chase her for it. There was plenty of white stuffing strolled across our floors from too many tugs o’war between our girls, but usually Lily was victorious – mainly because Sadie let her win. Lily was first to get her bone and would run to the back bedroom waiting, sometimes for hours, for Sadie to finish her bone. Then Lily would taunt her because she never chewed hers until Sadie was finished and wanted another one.

Sadie and Lily were our kids. They kept each other company. They played together, ate together, shared the couch and our bed, and on occasion, ran off through our woods and neighborhood together. But it was always Lily who came home first. Always. She loved a good adventure, but Lily was a homebody. She didn’t venture too far for too long. She was also the one that gave off negative vibes to other dogs. Ever the protector, Sadie would physically position herself between Lily and any other dog that came too close for comfort. Lily always knew Sadie had her back if danger came at her. And she repaid Sadie by curling up next to her when they napped.

When we’d load up in the 4-Runner, Lily was always first – barreling up into the backseat. However, she learned early on that the front seat was all Sadie’s. And even after we lost Sadie Love, Lily rarely rode in the front seat, reminding us that sometimes the sacredness of space is important and should be honored. In our family, that was how it was. Lily reminded us to show up and be first to enjoy experiences in life. She taught us not to wait on things to just fall our way and that a fulfilling life is about knowing when and how to show up and participate.

Sadie’s premature death reminded us we only have a short time with the souls in our lives. Consequently, Lily got to have a lot of adventures that Sadie never got to have.
I took her to Nashville with me multiple times, and she walked a few streets of Music City marching to the beat of her own drum. She stayed in hotels and jumped on hotel beds. She rode in elevators. She visited a farm. She visited homes of friends. She ate too many acorns and enjoyed marshmallows every day. She went on vacation with us to the beach four years in a row. Lily learned to swim in the ocean and the joy of digging in the sand. She let strangers pet her offering up an occasional kiss or a tail wag to some passerby. She always got a second glance and a smile thrown her way, and she loved showing off her athletic ability of catching a Frisbee.

She loved to hang out the car window and loved daily rides through the neighborhood on our golf cart. She loved a good Farmer’s Market and fresh bread. Strawberries weren’t her thing because the seeds always made her gag. So, she insisted on sharing half of a banana every morning. Lily disliked the vacuum cleaner and the dryer buzzer. But she never met a ceiling fan she didn’t like. When we traveled, Lily had her own personal mini-fan and also had an oscillating fan blowing on her whenever she decided to sleep on her own bed. She enjoyed being tucked in at night with a little soft instrumental music playing to lull her to sleep. I’m not even kidding. If she was ready to go to bed before we were, she’d stare at us from the hallway until one of us got up to tuck her in. Then she’d take off running down the hallway into our bedroom and leap into the bed. Oh, the games she played with our hearts!

These were our daily rituals until she became very ill last year. At first we thought she might recover, and our girl fought bravely at the end. But in our hearts, we knew we had to give her permission to let go. Page by page, and chapter after chapter, the story unfolded way too quickly. And today, as we honor the first, and albeit the hardest, anniversary of losing her, I realize how incredibly full the pages of my heart are because I got to live and learn about love and life through the chapters of two precious souls.

Losing them both stings equally. But losing Lily, in many ways, has been especially hard because it was the last page of a beautiful story that I believe is important for the world to know. In many ways, Lily was our wild child who stole our hearts from the start but is anchoring us to keep living like she did with intentional reckless abandon – wildly, fully, and freely knowing that where there’s an ending, there’s also a beginning. So look out, Dear World, the Story of Lily lives on.