It was a shock. Total and complete shock. Everything had been going just fine and then, we woke up Friday morning, but my sweet, silly Jilly did not.
The day before was just a normal everyday day. We got up. She went out, ate her breakfast and begged for my toast (and got it, of course). We went for a lovely walk around the lake in the sunshine. We came home, she got her vitamin, her treats, and slept while I ran errands. She went out, got more treats, snoozed while I worked in the studio. Oh, she grumbled a little because I was late doing her 3:00 out and treat. But that’s normal for Jilly because she liked to keep me on schedule (hers not mine). She had dinner and settled on her bed while I went to yoga. It was warm in our room for her and she woke us up to go out, then settled on her bed downstairs where it was cooler.
She died in her sleep sometime during the night. Peaceful. On her favorite bed with her chewy bone beside her. I just wish, I’d been there too. But I didn’t know. Maybe she wanted it that way.
Jilly beat the odds.
If you’ve read my blog before, you’ll know quite a bit about my life with Jilly. If not, here’s a little bit about her and there’s more on the sidebar.
She was a Guide Dog Career Changer. Meaning, she did not fit their mold. I’m not surprised at all because Jilly never fit anyone’s mold. She was stubborn and smart. She had a mind of her own and got what she wanted most of the time. She had training issues and it took quite a while for Jilly and I to get past her problems and find our way to working together with trust and love. But we did. And she was also beautiful, sweet, loving, friendly, patient and fun-loving.
Three years ago, vets gave Jilly 3 months to live. The diagnosis was cancer and the best treatment was major surgery and chemo. We opted not to put her through an ordeal of suffering for 3 extra months. Jilly proved us right by living happy and healthy for 3 more years.
Jilly taught me to be.
Jilly was patient and kind but she also demanded her needs be met. I need to learn that, too.
Especially as a female in our society, too often needs go by the wayside to accommodate others. Jilly taught me that kindness and patience doesn’t mean forgetting your own needs.
We walked everyday. As she stopped to sniff around, I also stopped and took the time to look around my world in that moment. See the otters diving. Watch the heron fly. Notice the day the bare limbs showed the smallest of buds. Jilly taught me that exercise can be relaxing and uplifting for body, mind and soul.
Jilly was always there in good times and bad. She took it all in with quiet acceptance. Her presence kept me in the present whether I was at the wheel throwing, making dinner, or on the computer. No matter what kind of day I had, she was there to hear about it and sit by my side.
Jilly was my friend.
I know she wouldn’t want to see me so sad. I know just what she’d do about it, too. She’d amble over and lie down on my feet. If I needed a hug, she was always there day or night. If I got up, she’d follow.
I still can’t believe it. I still look up or over expecting to see her on her bed. I still feel her behind me as I walk up the stairs. But now, my wonderful dog and friend moves on without me. And I can’t follow.
