9. Lulu

9. Lulu. Sometime in early 1990, my mom, who loves dogs, decided she was going to get one and for the first time, she was going to try a purebred. We always, always had a dog growing up, but they always came by way of chance, much like my sweet old Prieta right now. But for this one time, my mom wanted a purebred, so she started researching various breeds and breeders. I don't even know how, but I got completely stuck on the Belgian Sheepdog - I don't know if I found them in a book or what, remember, no internet then, and was insistent that my mom should get one of those. They were smart, didn't smell or shed much, not too big and not too small, very loyal, and absolutely beautiful. Somehow I convinced my mom and she started the process of meeting with a breeder and finally getting this furry black pup. Well, the process was fraught with difficulty, misunderstanding and some misinformation on the part of the breeder. The puppy was much older than my mom had thought - maybe four or five months instead of a tiny fur ball, and she also had some serious health conditions. My mom tried to work things out with the breeder, but at the same time, was doing her best not to get too attached to the dog, who she named Delilah, in case they ended up having to give her back to the breeder. It was a difficult time, because Delilah was ill, and it was really hard for my mom to not attach to her - my mom is one of the most loving people you will ever meet, and dogs have always been her thing. Consequently, Delilah was also not making attachments, and liked to run off. I was feeling guilty for having pushed the breed on my mom. and all in all the family was out of sorts around this dog.When I decided to move to Seattle that June, I had the idea to take the dog with me. I would be turning 24 that year, and had never had a dog of my own, nor had I ever really thought of having one, but realized that I could take this dog off my mom's hands, and start my life out in the Pacific Northwest with a companion. My mom agreed, we crated her up, gave her some doggie downers and put her on the plane with me that momentous day when I carried everything I owned (a few big suitcases, and several framed pieces of art) out to the airport and on to my brand new life. Everything was new to me.I remember that first early summer morning when I woke up at the Pyramid Inn, as my sister and her housemates called the house they rented in Wallingford, tired, disoriented and a little sad and lonely. But there was Delilah. My mom's dog. My dog. She quickly became my very best friend, I shortened her name to Lulu, and took her everywhere with me. I used to smoke back then (!!!!) and would wander around with Lulu, discovering Wallingford and the nearby neighborhoods, sitting in the park, smoking cigarettes and drinking my first lattes. I would take Lulu on the public bus with me, out to the mountains, on hikes, crossing the raging river to get to Goldmyer Hotsprings. Anywhere I went, Lulu went to. I brought her to work with me when I started working with developmentally disabled adults in their homes, brought her to my office at Group Health on the weekends when I was catching up on paperwork, and brought her to the Samarya Center with me when I taught. She would just sit quietly in the corner, watching me, watching the world. I used to take her around late, late at night, along with a pair of scissors, and very selectively cut flowers from the neighborhood (I know, I wouldn't do that now...) and bring home beautiful bouquets for the house. I think that must have been when my inclination for fresh flowers began, and has been a habit that has lasted - while I no longer smoke or pilfer flowers, I still always have fresh flowers wherever I am.Lulu's health problems continued, she started having massive seizures, which were terrifying and costly for a 24 year old with no experience and no money, but I figured it out, and started feeding her only all natural food, and the seizures diminished so that they were very infrequent. Lulu was incredibly loyal to me. People used to ask me if she was friendly - she kind of looked like a wolf and was a bit intimidating to be sure - and I would always respond by saying, "Well, she doesn't bite, if that's what you're asking, but I don't know if I would call her 'friendly' per se." She was reserved with people she didn't know, and kind of marched to her own drum. She was the always the fastest dog in any dog group when she was young, (this was before dog parks in Seattle, or leash laws) and also got a bit riled up around other dogs and could seem pretty fierce.I moved her around with me to my various apartments, even my $450 a month one bedroom right on capitol hill, on the corner of Thomas and Boylston, and walked her all over. She was a howler and would howl like a wolf when left alone for too long or at the sound of sirens. We loved getting her going, man she had pipes, I know my neighbors didn't love it as much as I did! I eventually got a small lock and would lock her up anytime I left her outside on Broadway, she was so striking that I thought someone might try to steal her.Lulu would always sleep on my bed while I was at work so I would cover my bed with a sheet to keep it clean. She would jump down as I walked in the house and pretend she had been in the living room the whole time. On days where I was feeling blue and would want her to get into the bed with me, she would stand at the side of the bed, pacing back and forth like she really wanted to get up there but didn't know how. She was cheeky like that.When I moved to Madison Valley, I started to walk Lulu to the lake every day, and eventually started taking her to Coleman beach every afternoon in the summer. We had a routine of throwing my inner tube in the back of my honda civic, Lulu would sit on the floor in front of the passenger seat, I would stop at the Leschi market and get some cheesy magazine and snacks, and we would stay at the lake all day, taking turns with me floating in my inner tube and Lulu standing at the edge of the lake just staring at me, or me throwing endless sticks for her into the water to retrieve. She loved the water, but would never get in it if I was in it, so we had to switch off who got to swim. I took her to Coleman beach on 9/12 (2001) and we sat together silently listening to the sound of no airplanes. She gave me a sense that everything was going to be ok.Lulu was with me for the next thirteen years. Early in 2003, she began to limp and I thought it was just arthritis - she was getting pretty old and gray was starting to show up around her muzzle. Finally, in February she was diagnosed with bone cancer. The vet told me that I could expect about another 30 days with her.I was devastated. Lulu had been with me through everything, everything, as I was growing up from being a college grad not knowing what to do with my life, to starting my life in Seattle, to my new jobs and finding a new community, to the start and break up of my first real bands and my first real love and heartbreak, to getting through grad school, to working at and then leaving Group Health, to starting the Samarya Center. It was the hardest loss of my life and in many ways I felt completely alone.On March 10, 2003, with Ned Sneed van Overbeek and Kc Grennan by my side, I put Lulu to sleep, peacefully, in my bedroom. I remember when it was over, I didn't want to let her go. The vet asked KC and Ned to remind me that she was gone, and for me to get into my bed - that I wouldn't want to see her being lifted up and taken away. I curled up in a ball on my bed and sobbed.Later that day, I sent an email out to friends with this photo and this message:This is a picture of Lulu this morning on her last visit to the lake. She was put to sleep an hour or so later. Lulu was my most beloved friend for more than 13 years and words cannot possibly describe how much I will miss her. Thanks to everyone who shared our lives and especially who helped us through this sad time. Om shanti,MollyI still remember who called or wrote to me that day, and what they said (Sanjaya Krishna stands out as one, my landlord MIke Dedrick as another, along with Robert Ortega, Stephanie Sisson and Tracy Hodgeman - just a few I remember specifically from that time) and feeling like I was completely lost. That was when I first had the image of the helium balloon cut from its string. That's exactly how I felt. I had no idea just how much Lulu had created a "cover" for me, a way for my to be in the world, growing up, feeling shielded and secure by her presence. I didn't really need anyone, I had Lulu. And now I didn't.Over the years, I have dreamed of Lulu many, many times and miss her still, in a way I have not with other pets I thought I loved just as much. But Lulu imprinted on me in a very particular way, and very much shaped my personality and sense of self through her absolute unconditional love and loyalty. She was the truest yogi I had ever known - she held no grudges, she lived in the present moment, and she was not afraid to die.I kept her ashes for years afterward, not knowing what to do with them, carrying them with me from one apartment to the next. When my beloved cat Cassius died last January, we buried him in our backyard, and I finally put Lulu's ashes into the ground along with Cassius' body, wrapped in silk. They were friends and it finally felt right. Lulu was not in those ashes, she was in my heart.It has now been as many years that I have not had her as the years that I did, and yet just thinking about her in this way evokes so much love and sadness even now. I am sure that without Lulu, I would be different now. I'm not sure how exactly, but I know that having this one solid and precious friend throughout my most formative early adult years changed and shaped me in a particular way. I know that my later work with grief recovery, and my powerful ability to be with people in grief and be with what they are experiencing, comes at least in part, from my experience with Lulu's life and death.I love you still, little doggie. Thank you for coming into my life and for growing up with me. You should see me now. I think you would be proud. Oh right, you're a dog - You loved me no matter what I did, who I was, or what I did or didn't accomplish. And anyway, I bet you still do see me now. I know I still see you.