The Luck of Lily

Some good things just drop in your lap. One day during my prep time at school, I was minding my own business, probably standing in the middle of my classroom trying to remember what I was about to do, and a co-worker came in. "Would your dad be interested in a Springer Spaniel? I know he bird hunts and such."

My parents had two dogs at the time, and absolutely no interest in a Springer Spaniel. "Nope," I said, not really giving the idea much thought at all. "My parents inherited my grandpa's dog last summer, so they're pretty much full on the dog front. And, even though we lost a dog last summer, I don't think I could convince my husband to take in a Springer."

I got a little choked up, as the dog we had lost that summer had been Belle, my English Setter, my first baby, who'd been through it all with me. She'd slept on my bed in the crook of my legs with her head resting over my back. She'd barked at strange noises in the night when I was single and scared them away. She'd stood in the middle of my driveway after Emma was born and wouldn't let a single person drive in, for fear they'd touch "her baby". She'd lived in seven different homes with me, made me laugh, made me so mad I wanted to strangle her and, when she got suddenly ill and passed away at the vet before we had to make the decision to put her down, made me cry. She was a great dog, and I missed her. But, I knew a "toddler" Springer Spaniel was not going to replace that Belle-sized hole in my heart.

"Yeah," my co-worker said, "I'm in a similar situation. This was my dad's dog, I really didn't want to take it, but it would've broken his heart... I've got this other dog, too, and it's just a lot for me..." She started to walk out into the hallway and walk away, but Fate brought her back in. "What about a Golden Retriever?"

Now, a Golden Retriever was a completely different story. My college roommate's family had a Golden, Casey, who I would pet until he fell asleep every time we went to her house. I adored that dog. Belle had a best friend, Annie, who was a Golden from Obedience and Agility Class. When we watched dog shows and obedience trials, I always favored the Goldens. Just a great breed of dog.

"Welllll," I said, picturing Eric and his inaffection for 'big dogs'. "I may be able to talk my husband into a Golden. Your other dog is a Golden?"

The co-worker explained how a mutual friend had rescued the other dog, then moved to another town with her other four dogs and needed someone to keep this dog.

"I really wanted just a little dog that would sleep on my bed and lie in my lap while I watch TV," she said, "Not two energetic dogs."

My heart skipped a beat as I thought of throwing a ball to Casey, giving him Milkbone biscuits, petting him until I was covered in fur. "I'll talk to Eric tonight, okay? I would be completely on board--I love Goldens--but it would have to be okay with him, too."

Later that day, about twenty minutes after school let out, a smallish, orange whir ran through my room. It circled the tables, sniffed my feet, and ran for the door. All I could make out was a tail spinning at the speed of a hummingbird's wing. My co-worker came tearing in, leash in hand, and said, "She's super sweet! Seriously!"

I got down and pet her fur; she was a wagging shag-carpet of love. I really wanted to just put her in my car and go home. I looked up at my co-worker. "Seriously, you don't have to talk me into this.  I was in love before you even brought her in here. But, I cannot just bring a dog home. I have to talk to Eric." So, my dream dog and her wrangler went out to their car and went home.

That night, with Emma's six-year-old ears waaaaaay out of range,  I asked Eric what he would think of a getting a Golden Retriever. "That was random--unless it wasn't," he said, a suspicious eyebrow up. I explained my co-worker's story.

"Yeah, but aren't they, like, really big dogs?" he asked.

"They come in different sizes. She's actually small for a Golden. Smaller than Belle was; well, shorter anyway."

"I dunno..." Eric went upstairs while I stayed downstairs, and I really thought the issue was dead. About two minutes later, Eric came down with a water for him, a water for me, and a crazy answer.

"Okay, who am I to say you shouldn't have a big dog in your life? How 'bout this--we try her out for a night or two and see what we think."

"Like, this weekend?"

"No, right now. Go get her and we'll see what happens. She'd have to be fine while we were at work, too."

So, I hopped in my car, drove out to the co-worker's house, and wrestled the rambunctious Lily into the car. Picture a gerbil the size of a wolf. She sniffed my neck, the seats, and the "way back"; she licked each window, rubbed her nose across the dashboard, then sat like a lady in the passenger seat. She looked at me with a smile as if to say, "So, where're we going now?"

The great news for Lily was that we had an invisible fence from Belle, so she could run around in the yard without a leash, and we didn't have to worry she'd run away. She knew her name, but certainly didn't come to it. Lily had lived with one family as a puppy, another woman for two months, my co-worker for three months, and now had come to us. I really believe that, at that point in her life, Lily didn't know what home meant. Even though she had found it.

When we got back to the house, Lily ran around the family room downstairs, smelling the smells and seeing the sights. Eventually, she settled down on the floor next to Eric's recliner, where he proceeded to pet her for over an hour. As his arm stroked, Eric turned to me and said, "Okay, I give. Barring any unforeseen craziness tomorrow, this dog can stay. She is super sweet." Maybe I was the one who asked for Lily and brought her to the house, but she was Eric's dog from day one.

That night, she slept by Eric's side of the bed, her head hiding under the bed, his own personal guardian. When we awoke in the morning, Lily ran circles around us, the tail a now-hazardous propeller which could strike at any moment. We strapped the underground fence collar around her neck and let her loose on the yard. Eric stood on the porch as she zipped and flew around the yard, greeting every blade of grass, tree trunk, flower stem, "Hey, hi! I'm Lily!" When Eric called her to come in, though, she gave him a happy glance, and kept on sniffing. It was clear she wasn't coming until she was good and ready.

When we came home from work that day, I fully expected a torn-down house. Belle had been...interesting. She ate metal. Like, one time, she consumed and later threw up 87 cents. She chewed glasses, metal teacher pins, hinges. She also peed anywhere she damn well pleased. If you didn't catch her (this was well past "potty training," folks) right when she wanted to go out, she'd just go. I kept her in a kennel ("She won't pee where she sleeps and eats") and she peed right on her bed. Thus, Eric's words "unforeseen craziness" kept ringing in my head throughout the day. I kept imagining what wreckage that energetic little whirlwind was bestowing upon our house. As I stepped into the house from the garage I found... nothing. There she was, tail just a-going, happy to see me. I searched the house and then bent down to hug Lily around the neck. "Nice work, lady," I said into her smiling eyes, "You've made it!"

So, Lily was ours. Over the next few days, we realized the collar was crucial, because she ran like crazy around the yard. She did not come when you called, but rather had to be corralled back into the house. "Okay," I thought to myself, "we'll have to work on that." I had been through lots of obedience classes with my dad's dogs and with Belle. I figured she was just young and untrained. We'd figure it out together.

In the house, you couldn't ask for a better dog. She was happy to see you when you came in at the end of the day. Shoot, she was happy to see you when you came in from another room. "Hi," her eyes always said, "Let's play!" She would tirelessly chase a tossed ball or Carolina's soft BlueDog across the room and bring it back. She was never quite sure she wanted to give it up, but she'd acquiesce because she really did want to chase it, and then let go. She cuddled with me, Emma, Eric, and tried to cuddle Carolina and the cat. She turned her adolescent head sideways when you talked to her, smelled your face, sighed contentedly. She was a great dog.

I took her into the yard to go potty and saw a stick under a tree. Thinking of our fetch games in the house, I picked it up and raised it above my head, "Lil," I yelled, "go get it!" Lily lay down immediately on her belly and covered her face with her paws. She didn't move.

You sons of bitches, I thought. We didn't know much about Lily's past, just that her original owners had tied her with a short rope to a tree outside their home, and had fed her too much. We didn't know any more reason than that about why my co-worker's friend had rescued her. Based on the stick, I was pretty sure we didn't want to know.

"It's okay, baby," I said. I set the stick down, sat down next to Lily, and put her head in my lap. We cuddled, Lily and I, out in the yard, and pondered life's dark spaces. "Lily, we will never hurt you," I told her chocolate eyes, and I think she believed me.

However, she was still a runner. Four days after Lily came to live with us, we had a babysitter. When we came home after the rare date night, the poor girl was just distraught. "I didn't put the collar on!" she said through tears. Lily had darted out the front door, and taken off down the road. She and Emma had called and called, but Lily hadn't come back. After about an hour, they'd started knocking on neighbors' doors, and found Lily next door. They attached a collar and leash, and got her home. That was literally the last time we had a sitter for Emma. And we realized just how much Lily needed that invisible fence collar.

Unfortunately for me, she couldn't wear the collar in the car. About a week after Lily moved in, I was loading Emma into the car to take her to Girl Scouts. I was going to make a stop at the McDonald's gas station in town, get some gas and get dinner for Emma, and then come home. Lily stood at the door as we put on our jackets, tail swinging, eyes sparkling. "Do you want to go, Sweetie?" I asked. Lily nudged my keys with her nose. "Okay, c'mon!" With the garage door closed, I opened the minivan door and Lily hopped in.

Her nose sniffed happily and dribbled nose-drool down the side of the window. "Watch the tail," I laughed to Emma as I watched in the rear view mirror. Emma giggled and leaned toward her side of the car, nearly avoiding decapitation.

"Geez, Mom, she sure is happy," Em said and I agreed. Lily was the sweetest dog. Really gentle and cuddly, and glad to meet everybody.

I pulled the van up, got gas, and then parked on the side. "Okay, Em," I said, "let's get you some dinner before Scouts. Watch out for Lily." Before the words even left my mouth, Lily was out.

Now, I need to mention, this gas station is on what we in the small town of Indian River (with our two stoplights) refer to as "M-68". Like, a "highway" of sorts. Definitely one of the busiest roads in our town. In addition, the freeway, I-75, is right there. Like, less than a block east. So, I did the only thing I could do. I completely freaked out.

"Liiiiiii-llllllllly!" I screeched. Lily ran past me, through the other parked vehicles, and down the front of the building. Of course this was one of those rare days that I actually wore a dress and girl shoes to work. I hobbled after her, trying to hike up my ankle length skirt and swing for the dog at the same time. When she reached the end of the building, Lily turned--toward the road--and then ran back the other way, zipping through the cars getting gas. "Grab that dog!" I yelled at the people pumping gas, who just stood there agape as if they'd never seen a dog taking off from its owner at a super busy gas station in the middle of town. "Lil! C'mon, Lily!" I yelled desperately. Lily gave me the shiny grin, then zoomed behind the building.

There's a fence, and behind that is the Sturgeon River. Lily streaked up and down the river bank, smelling, greeting, laughing, loving life. I stumbled, grabbed trees and mud, and tried to snatch her. At one point, she whizzed past me, "Hi, Mom! Isn't this the best?" and ran along the river to the edge of the fence.

Emma stood on the pavement, watching and calling, but she was six. She really couldn't help much. As I struggled in the mud, Lily came back up on the pavement and ran down the empty drive-thru lane. I pushed past the fence and tore after her, skirt flapping in the wind. I seriously hoped they didn't have a camera on the drive-thru.

Finally, finally, by the grace of God, Lily got tired. And when she did, she ran over to me and let me grab her collar. Emma was crying by then--she felt like it was all her fault--and didn't want to go to Scouts anymore. I was sobbing by then--I could just picture this lovely creature we'd brought into our home being killed by a car in front of my six-year-old--and exhausted. We went home, where Lily was happy to curl up next to Eric's chair.

Two weeks in, we had to take Lily to the vet to get spayed. This time I attached the leash before I left the garage. I pulled Lily into the office, the same vet office that had told my co-worker's friend about Lily and inspired her to go talk the original owner into giving her up. Lily's tail thumped against the reception desk as I signed her in, and she willingly went into the back room with the attendant. "I'll be back tomorrow, Sweetie Girl," I called to Lily, but she didn't seem to hear.

The next day, when I came to pick Lily up, the receptionist commented on what a gentle dog Lily was. "A real sweetheart," she said. "We have really enjoyed her."

"Oh, I know," I said, "we're super lucky to have her." At the sound of my voice, Lily started going bonkers in the cage in the adjacent room. She began whining and turning around in the cage, tail beating the sides.

"Well, she sure knows her mom," the receptionist smiled, "we haven't heard one peep out of her since she got here."

I pictured the great chase in the McDonald's and laughed. "Well, I hope she will. We haven't had her very long. She still doesn't come when called or anything yet."

At that moment, the attendant brought Lily in where she could see me. Lily bolted, pulled her leash out of the attendant's hands, and slammed her head into my legs, almost knocking me off my feet. She whined, and rubbed her face on my legs, and wagged her happy tail, and attacked me with love.

"She may not come to her name, but she knows her family," the receptionist laughed, as my butt hit the floor.

Lily's eyes looked deep into mine. I hugged her around the neck. We were lucky to have her. She was lucky to have us. Lily had finally found home.