Dear Lulu: I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you more
Early in my career, when I had a little extra money and a lot of extra time, you’d often find me haunting the “local.” That each bartender knew my order should tell you what I did with the time and money.
It wasn’t obvious to me I was on a dangerous path until police knocked early one Sunday. A party at my apartment hadn’t ended well.
I’ll spare you the details, but it was not a happy time in my life. The good news was I smartened up long enough to meet a girl and move in. The bad news was we shacked up because I couldn’t afford the fancy apartment.
Our second act of domesticity was adopting a puppy. Lulu was a little black-and-white husky with a bellybutton hernia and bad attitude. Still, she melted our hearts. Suddenly, I didn’t care about carousing, there was a little life needing me at home (and invariably a mess to clean).
We had warning signs early she wasn’t like “other dogs,” though. A vet cured the hernia, but not the attitude. Lulu was never at ease despite the K-9 kindergarten, walks and treats. At home, we grew more attached every day. While the girl didn’t last, the dog did. I crammed Lulu into the front seat of my SUV and travelled to Kelowna in 2006. She wasn’t sure about the heat, but loved the off-leash parks. Even though she played with pit bulls and poodles equally, I still had to warn some owners to keep their distance.
Until she turned two and hit doggie puberty. Suddenly, nobody was good enough to get between Lulu and I. She ruined a few dates until I met my wife, who wasn’t about to let a dog get between us. Lulu and I quickly fell in love with Erin. To Lulu, though, it just meant another human to protect. One of our first outings, Lulu bit a woman at the dog park who got between Lulu and Erin.
At that point, most people would’ve been smart enough to let the SPCA find Lulu an orchardist who needed land cleared of bobcats. I was too stubborn.
We trained with almost everyone: Liz Corrigan helped most, and Lulu began to show glimpses of the dog I knew she could be. Given the right circumstances, Lulu would’ve jumped through a flaming hoop and bowed to the crowd. Most days, though, she would ignore me and find neighbours to harass. By safe count, she nipped or bit six people and fought with twice as many dogs. I just couldn’t translate our classroom learning in the real world.
To show you how much most people love animals, each of Lulu’s human victims accepted blame.
We were past the point of worry when our first daughter arrived nearly four years ago. We thought Lulu would detect an interloper. Instead, Charlotte became her newest charge. Two more babies in three years, and Lulu only became a prouder big sister.
While the walks became less frequent, (who can control a 64-pound guard dog and chase toddlers?) Lulu remained fiercely loyal. Too fierce, too loyal.
As Charlotte learned to open the front door, we envisioned Lulu tearing after some poor, unsuspecting little boy or girl come to play.
My wife kept asking me to talk about what we should do. I became ultimately defensive. “We aren’t giving her what she needs,” Erin would say. “It might get better,” I thought.
It didn’t. With failing hips, hormone pills, eye drops and a checkered past, there were few options for an old girl like Lulu. Truthfully, had we found her another owner, Lulu would’ve just found her way home again. About five years ago, Lulu took off after three coyotes near Dilworth Mountain.
She survived the coyotes, six lanes of Highway 97 traffic and was waiting for me at home.
I hope she’s at peace now, off mending fences with my grandpa on a farm, with young hips and clear eyes. I hope she forgives me for giving up on her, because that’s what it feels like I did.
It’s been less than a week since I walked out of Tri-Lake vet hospital alone, and I can’t describe how much I hurt. Charlotte keeps asking me if I’m still sad. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling sad. If it wasn’t for that black-and-white puppy waiting for me, I don’t think I would’ve ever made it home.
Dave Trifunov is managing editor of The Daily Courier. Email dave.trifunov@ok.bc.ca; read his blog at Theyhavemesurrounded.ca.