On losing my dog
It’s been six months since our beloved black Labrador, Layla, died. I miss her every day, but particularly when events are overwhelming. Since Jan. 20, I have wished daily that she was here to soothe my anxiety and distract me. Life is a little empty without her.
We rescued Layla when she was just over a year old. She was a beautiful dog, with a glossy black coat and warm, intelligent (and often pleading) brown eyes. She had been a stray for at least a month during the winter. Someone found her and took her to an animal shelter in Hickory, NC. There, she languished for at least another month until a Labrador rescue group rescued her a few days before she was to be euthanized. We adopted her from her foster mom in March 2012.
Our previous dog, also a Labrador, had been the sweetest, most submissive and gentle dog I’ve ever known. So, we told the rescue group we preferred a calm, medium-energy dog.
Layla was the energetic opposite. On her first day home with us, she zoomed around our backyard at top speed, enjoying every minute—and we thought, “oh, oh.” She definitely had a wild streak. Or as I preferred to say, she was a spirited life force.
She was athletic, nimble, coordinated and graceful. For most of her life, she vaulted with ease onto retaining walls, little columns and all manner of structures protruding from the ground. We never taught her to do it; it was instinctual. Every time she did it, she looked at me with those pleading brown eyes. She quickly learned that if she performed these gymnastic feats, she earned a dog treat.
We used to joke that she had been both a diva and an Olympic gymnast or track star in previous lives.
She was incredibly sweet and loyal to us; however, she was also reactive and protective. It was as if she had a bubble around her, and if you violated her space, she let you know about it in no uncertain terms.
In the first year or two, we used several different trainers to try to control this behavior. We had moderate success, but mostly learned to avoid the numerous situations that triggered her: dogs off leash, small children, very loud voices and people/dogs who got too close. Sometimes walks were challenging, but I learned to manage her behavior and my expectations.
We settled into a comfortable and close coexistence. I looked forward to our daily walks but especially loved her enthusiastic and heartfelt greetings when I returned to the house. For a while, she was my shadow, following me everywhere. She claimed an older couch as hers and made herself comfortable on our bed and guest room beds.
She entertained us in the evenings by playing with various squeaky toys and cuddling by our feet in the living room. Her lively personality lit up our empty nest house, bringing a joyful and somewhat crazy presence to the quiet.
As we aged, she became our support animal and provided canine comfort through difficult situations. During my husband‘s years of recovery from cancer, a stroke and a few other minor illnesses, she was my constant and loving friend. She could always take me away from stress and make me live in the moment with her.
I miss her constant, loving presence so much. Particularly these days.