My last walk with Tilly was 4 days ago before she got sick…before she mysteriously lost the use of her muscles and slipped into paralysis…before I wept holding her as the doctor euthanized her. In these dark dark moments of life when your heart is drenched in tears and sinking to the bottom of your empty gut your friends pop up, each an individual burst of light to help you find your way through it. They tell you the things you need to heal and often the right things to get you through each step of the cavern of grief. In one of my many recent moments of deep belly cries this afternoon I received a text from a friend telling me to try not to cry that it is over, but to smile because it happened. As I pulled myself up off Tilly's dog bed and wiped my face for the hundredth time in 3 days, I smiled at the thoughts of my favorite memories of my beloved little girl and our many walks. It led me to want to share with my friends as I try to forget the final memories that cause so much grief.
It is only fitting that a walk with Tilly would be a part of todays' writing, not only because it has been the opener for many of my blogs, but also because it is Sunday. Or as I used to and always will call it "Sarah and Tilly Day". This was the day of the week I would set aside to go on an adventure with Tilly on foot downtown. Sundays would begin early like any other day with Tilly pounding my back with her front paws to wake me up. As small as her 35 pound frame was, she could pack a decent kidney shot. I would grumble for her to leave me alone and try to go back to sleep. She would jump off and sit on the floor, tail twitching expectantly for me to acknowledge her. If I didn't, she would whine and jump back up on my back and then quickly jump off back into position before I could swat at her. She would pound her paws on the floor till I would look at her. At this point I would roll over and acknowledge her complaining, "What do you want?" She would whinny like a little horse and motion her head to the door, taking a couple paces to it as if to say, "Let's go already!" I would teasingly pretend to go back to sleep knowing full well I was about to get another forceful pounce on my back. When I would finally sit up and give in, hands up in surrender, she would jump up on the bed and roll around on her back kicking her feet to the sky and making weird dog noises of joy. I can't describe them but they were pretty funny. After our breakfast, a coffee, and a download of NPR podcasts, I was ready to take Tilly on our Sunday adventure. I would pack a backpack with water, treats, a book, and my radio shows and take off on foot towards the river with Tilly leading the way. We would walk down to the waterfront and walk along the waters' edge away from Sunday strollers and near the small wakes that Tilly loved to jump into. We'd walk downtown and get her a bone at Canine Utopia, find a patio to sit at for lunch, and I would read while she went to town on her bone. We'd spend a few hours out together exploring our neighborhood each week. Sometimes we would be on the Burnt Bridge Trail, sometimes downtown, sometimes out to Frenchmans' Bar. But we always spent Sundays outside and having fun, her sniffing around and me listening to radio podcasts off somewhere adventurous in my mind. I think I loved these days so much because it is in these days that I see so clearly the wonderful influence she was on my life. She made me exercise, even when it was pouring rain. I did a lot of thinking and working out of my life, a lot of question answering, and a lot of soul searching on these walks. I would never have done that if not for her. She was a very special influence on my life in this way.
When I first saw Tilly I knew she was very special. Brian and I had been talking for a couple months about getting a dog to keep me company while he traveled for work. We had both always loved Pitbulls and so we decided to go check out the Humane Societies in Portland and Vancouver to look around. One day after several prior attempts to find a dog we decided to check out the Humane Society in Vancouver. In the first hallway we went down, 4 cages in, I saw this little tiger-striped dog sleeping on a bed. She looked up at me sadly, curled into a little ball, tail wrapped around her. I put my fingers in the front of her cage and called for her to come over. She didn't get up but her tail wagged furiously. I looked into her eyes and saw a sweet soul. I asked Brian if we could take her. He wasn't convinced yet so we had a tech bring her to play with us outside. On her paperwork it said that she loved to play ball and frisbee. Brian tossed a ball around and she jumped around after it. When she brought it back she reached up her paws to him and licked his face. He was sold. We would high-five each other every day from then on how lucky we were to find her. She proved to be a snuggly, silly, amazingly athletic dog with a huge heart and an energetic personality. She was also a great companion. When Brian and I ended our relationship and I moved home, she was an amazing comfort and a healing presence. She always knew when I needed her and she had an amazing ability to understand what was going on with my life.
True to her pitbull breed, Tilly was an alpha. She wanted to lead the way, she wanted to protect me, always pulling and on alert. Stubborn as a mule, I always joked I couldn't break her but I never wanted to. She had such a loving and curious spirit, such a joy and excitement around people, and such an athletic nature. I found her stubborn morning alarm routine to be funny. I loved that she would roll in the grass when I would yell at her to come inside from playing, knowing I would think it was cute and buying herself more time with her rebelliousness. I enjoyed the keen hunter she was, even when she brought a live 20 pound possum into my living room and it walked out the door after playing dead. When we would leave the house, she would walk with a hop in her step, ears bouncing with curiosity. A random squirrel would pop out and she would turn into a jungle cat and try to pounce on it. I remember on one of our daily walks when she caught a squirrel several feet in front of us and shook it to death in her jaws. Not one of my favorite walks, but amazing, nonetheless. That was Tilly…amazing. She stood up to big dogs and hid behind my back scared of cats. She loved to chase butterflies, jump into water and swim, and bury her bones in the yard. She was funny and a character all her own. And that was how she changed my life. Because she challenged me to try to be like her adventurous spirit.
As I look back on my last walk with Tilly I wish I had known it would be our last. I would have walked her further, fed her more treats, given her the best day of her life. But most of all, I would have let her know what an amazing friend she was to me. She may have only been a dog to most people that looked at her but she was my family. I was always met with her unconditional love and her sweet snuggly disposition. She would walk in sunshine or rain with the same happy gait. Her loyalty had no end and her love through even her own pain was constant until the moment her eyes closed in death. The doctors and the nurses that cared for her said that even when she was paralyzed in the oxygen cage with IV's stuck in her arms and trying to breathe through her closing esophagus, she would still wag her tail anytime someone would walk by. Even in these last moments she was teaching me that no matter how bad the situation may be, there was something to be happy about. I may have lost her and may not be able to take her on walks anymore like we used to, but I will always walk with the lessons she taught me and the love she gave me in my heart. She will still walk with me everyday.
