Our Dog Friend, Lola

 

(Lola in Idaho)

I can say with much confidence that Lola was a once in a lifetime type of dog. Lola loved her pack. Lola’s pack were people, particularly—I hope—John and me. I say “I hope” because Lola loved all people. She licked babies' faces. She crawled onto the laps of friends and family. And on countless occasions, she jumped into the beds of overnight house guests. What was remarkable about Lola’s indiscriminate love for all humans is that in her early years, humans betrayed her. We don’t know much about Lola’s background, but are nearly certain she was abused. She had scars on her paws, and when I first adopted her, she cowered at the sudden movement of a hand. Still, despite the betrayals of her early years, Lola continued to love both the stranger and friend alike. This, I believe, is a testament to her inherent forgivingness. We witnessed her forgivingness in more simple ways as well, such as her willingness to let me cut her nails despite my repeatedly cutting her quick (those damn black nails!).

While Lola was indiscriminate in her love for humans, I’m fairly confident that John and I were Lola’s favorite humans. Lola was never far. She shadowed us around the house, she joined our yoga sessions by stationing herself on our mats, and she sat next to me while I took baths (kind of creepy?). Lola was most content when the pack was accounted for and together. This was evidenced by her disdain for the closed door—which, of course, Lola learned to skillfully open. With Lola, fences were not necessary. We never lived in a house with a fully enclosed yard, yet Lola never strayed from home. Lola’s love for her pack was strong—so strong, that she endured seal and dinosaur costumes, periodic vacuuming, and friends’ toddlers pulling on her tail. She was easily the most tolerant dog I’ve ever known.

Lola’s love for her humans could be characterized as needy perhaps, but Lola had a strong independent streak. That independent streak emerged primarily in the great outdoors (she spent two weeks alone in the high Uinta mountains in December, need I say more?). But Lola was independent at home too, enjoying her quiet time, “putting herself to bed” at night, and never once revolting when left home alone.

In many ways, Lola lived a life of balance. She was, for instance, the perfect combination of lazy and active. She loved getting out and doing things, but was just as content lazing at home with her pack. Reflecting on it, Lola had a lazy-to-active ratio similar to that of John and myself. Perhaps this was one of the reasons our life together felt so seamless and easy.

Lola also had a type of quiet confidence about her. It made her a reassuring and stabilizing force and gave her an air of sophistication that was almost human-like. I wish I could say it was something we taught her, but I think it’s a quality that predates our time together. Indeed, when I spotted her at the humane society, she was the only dog that wasn’t barking incessantly; she knew she didn’t need to bark to get anyone’s attention.

Lola was also highly adaptable, and did fine—if not thrived—wherever she was. With Lola, there was no fear of the new or strange. Lola was essentially unphasable, save for her one true fear: ice cream trucks. I can’t say for sure why she was like that, but I suspect it was her innate confidence at work.

In the last 16 month of her life, Lola proved herself a stubborn survivor. Lola emerged from a two week walk-about in the Uinta wilderness with little more than some frost bite on her ears and nose. Things didn’t look so good when she was diagnosed with cancer, but Lola went on loving life for nearly 17 more months, well-outliving her prognosis. I think Lola would have lived for many years more if not for a body that failed before her mind.

Then there are all the random things that make Lola memorable: Her soft coat and and her even softer ears, her excessively waggly tail, and her big expressive eyes (a trait that earned her the nickname, “the dog of constant sorrow”). She would greet us when we came home by repeatedly springing in the air like a “Tigger.” She loved apples and made so many pilgrimages to our apple tree that she left a visible path in her wake. She had many beds, but she chose to sleep in hampers. She’d pluck tomatoes from the vines of our tomato plants, returning home with yellow-green stains on her nose and a telltale odor of tomato leaves. The list goes on.

Lola has enriched our lives in ways that can’t be quantified. I am grateful for the many adventures we shared—our backpacking trips, winter excursions to yurts, and island camping. I am just as grateful for our time curled up on the couch. Wherever Lola was, she made it better.

Lola, our dog friend, you were a source of endless love and entertainment. You helped me find balance in my life—through law school and up until the day you died. Your companionship inspired confidence. You provided consistency and calm in an increasingly hectic world. And your unbreakable spirit is worthy of honor and emulation.

Wherever you are, I hope the squirrels are plentiful, there are ample sunny spots in which to bask, and there is an endless supply of food to satisfy your insatiable appetite (but please, no poop!).

R.I.P., Lola (a.k.a. “the beast” and far too many nicknames to count).

Alexa McCallum
2/9/2021

 P.S. A photo essay of Lola’s life is available here.