Dear whomever,

Apologies for the lengthy rant. I guess I need to share my love for my dog, Lulu, who passed away on 20th of September 2019. Ever since losing her, I've felt guilty that not many/more people knew how amazing she was. In an attempt to make up for it, I've been trying to share her pictures, my poems about her, details about her personality as well as her life story, to anyone who will listen.

Lulu was a very special girl. I found her when I was 10 years old, on January 12th, 2007. My mom was driving me to the city for my english lessons when I spotted two round animals I thought were hedgehogs, on a left turn. Excited to see my first 'hedgehogs' I asked her to park and that's when I realized they were 1-month-old puppies (mind you, I grew up with pets - canary birds, fish, parrots, a guinea pig and cats - but mom had been rejecting the idea of getting a dog for years). I was so smitten and also worried about them being all alone on a street where they could get run over by cars at any moment. Then a red car stopped and the driver came over and picked up both of them. The lady was bubbly and wanted to adopt both of them right then and there. I guess I was very sad to have to leave them and get in the car, and my mom snatched one of the puppies out of the lady's arms and said ''we'll take one''. Goes without saying, I was SHOCKED and over the moon. So we put Lulu in the car (can't remember if she was the puppy with the darker or lighter fur) and drove to the city. Unfortunately, despite how excited and overstimulated I was, I still had to attend the lessons. In the evening, mom came to pick me up with Lulu in a crate and we went shopping for supplies and toys. It was the best day of my life.

I don't remember a lot from when I was little, because my childhood was very traumatic and I've lost most of my memories. I do remember that she was very fluffy and looked like a little bear. She liked to bite a lot and I was scared of her when she got the zoomies so I would hide my hands behind my back so she wouldn't munch on them. She'd cry at night and we'd wake up and go to her crate and let her nibble on our fingers for comfort. I also recall her having a soft spot for my dad (who was rarely around due to his job) and her being jealous whenever any two people were hugging without including her. She was also scared of her own farts but would still try to reach her bumhole to investigate the occurence...

We grew up together. She made me a better person in so many ways I wouldn't have thought. I don't remember much of my life before her. **I do know she was and is, to this day, the best friend I ever had.** I am not exaggerating when I say there were a handful of times during my teenage years that the only thing keeping me alive was the thought I had to hold on for her. On one hand, I told myself I wasn't doing enough: I wasn't a good dog parent, I was poor and living with my mom's stupid rules. On the other hand, I felt like nobody could ever love her more or as much as I did.

My mom didn't want her inside the home so she stayed in her doggy home in our tiny yard, right outside the kitchen door. I fed and played with her in the yard, but sometimes mom would let her in for a few minutes. I'd give her snacks, she'd have zoomies, I'd take videos of her and then she'd lay down and show me the belly so I wouldn't take her out. My heart broke every time. She always had very expressive eyes and of course, puppy eyes are hard to resist anyway. She liked all foods and snacks except for banana and cucumber. She loved watermelon and cheese (only given to trick her into swallowing her de-wormer tablet). She was very sly and smart. She could recognize herself in the mirror, she loved sitting on curtains and hiding behind them too. She wasn't much of a lap dog though she would come to comfort me when I was extremely sad or crying. She liked to play (despite a short attention span) and sleep. She loved finding pine cones and bringing them home and just dumping them around her bed as soon as we entered the door (and then never playing with them again?). She was very curious, always wanted to know whatever was going on...and friendly with all animals (lizards, tortoise, cats, bugs) except for other dogs, which she only tolerated if they were female. I used to joke that, just like her mom, she was snobby when it came to men.

When I graduated high-school I moved away from my birthplace in order to go to uni. Left my village of a thousand people on an island of 85,000 souls to go to a city of 4 million. It took me two years to officially settle down and feel like I could take care of another soul. So for two years, I'd only return home to see Lulu. A week with her wasn't nearly enough time. Mom would tell me she'd be depressed each time I left and wouldn't eat for days. I wanted to have her with me 24/7 for so many reasons: missing her, feeling guilty about how sad she was each time I left, feeling like I'd care for her much better than my mom did (refused to give her more than just food and water - no walks, no vet, no play or love), the possibility of her dying and me not being there...My mom fought so hard to not let that happen, even using random people she knew to emotionally manipulate me into thinking I was a bad person for changing an old dog's environment. It was an exhausting and very upsetting chapter in my life. I had no emotional, financial or practical support. But I was determined to bring her to my apartment in the city and figure everything out along the way.

Initially, I expected her to have no idea how to behave in an apartment. She lived in a yard for years afterall, with no limit to when and where she could pee and poop. She never was the kind of dog to chew or break things, but I didn't know how'd she react inside a small apartment that was an entirely different environment for her. She only had trouble peeing due to her being unfamiliar with pavements and grass (was used to marble/soil) for a few days, but other than that, I didn't need to train her at all. She was such a good girl and adjusted immediately. I tried to give her everything my mom wouldn't let me when I was under her roof. I found the best vet for her and bombarded him with questions to make sure I'd give her the best care. I was constantly googling to find the best products for her: The right and most comfortable bed for older dogs, the most durable dog leash, the best harness that wouldn't injure or limit her, nutritious but also tasty snacks, etc. I'd constantly check her for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. I was worried to death any time I'd find anything I hadn't seen before and would immediately rush her to the vet.

Early in 2019, I noticed that Lulu's mood was kinda off. She was walking very slowly but hadn't stepped on anything or broken something. This wasn't like her. I booked an appointment at the vet though the next day she was back to normal. The physical examination showed she was healthy, nothing hurt though we did x-rays as well to make sure (maybe she had jumped off the couch and injured her legs). She had slightly elevated levels in a couple of blood tests but the vet reassured me it was common in older dogs and we just changed her diet to help lower those levels. A few weeks later, I noticed her walking was slowed down again and she'd avoid steps or jumping. Apparently, arthritis had just entered our lives...Following the vet's advice, I would pick her up wherever we were going uphill, downhill or climbing steps so there wouldn't be extra strain on her legs. I was also giving her liquid hip and joint supplements on top of dry food specifically designed for joint care.

The more I cared for her, the more connected to her I felt. *I didn't know I could love her even more than I already did.* Living under the same roof, throughout the day, every day really did make a difference. I wasn't even aware I could love anyone that much. One day in August, she wouldn't come to me when called. She just stayed in her bed and looked at me. She wouldn't eat. No reaction to me mentioning a walk. No drinking. She looked drowsy and I got super worried. While waiting for the results of the blood work, the vet suggested I schedule an appointment at another vet clinic that had better ultra sound equipment. I did, and a few days later she had an abdomen ultra sound. I remember how the vet's face just dropped and he looked at me almost scared to break the news. There was a huge mass in the right side of her liver but he couldn't determine exactly what it was. He told me I had to prepare for the possibility that it was cancer and further action would be needed. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. *Lulu was just sitting there on the examination table, scared of the random man that had immobilized her, not knowing what was going on and looking at me for comfort. I was dying inside while she probably was dying in the literal sense.* I was shocked but I had to be strong for her. I had honestly never thought she was anything but invincible. She'd never had health issues before 2019, everything I'd noticed was a false alarm and my overthinking giving me anxiety. How could this have happened?

The next step was FNA. It did not provide any useful results. Biopsy was next but was a bit risky due to her age (almost 13) despite her strong heart. I was trying to scrape together the money needed for it as I was a university student with no income, relying on 1000 euros in a shared bank account with my parents. To clarify, my mother is considered 92% disabled and hasn't worked since 1995. My dad is retired, owed 50,000 euros by his last employer who declared bankruptcy and it waiting for his first pension paymeny. We spent 4 years living off his savings for my time in university. We had 1000 euros for the three of us for everything: my rent, everyone's bills, everyone's groceries and emergencies.

I consulted so many vets. They all told me everything was risky at this point. Without the biopsy, they couldn't be sure, but the most likely scenario was that she had an aggressive form of cancer originating from blood-vessel cells. There was the option of operating on her blindly and of course the anesthesia could kill her, but so could the biopsy. The vets informed me that the mass was in the right side of the liver which made it pretty much inoperable. If their estimation was correct and this was indeed not a benign tumor, she had 5% chance to survive the operation. And then maybe a maximum of 6 months if chemotherapy worked. This would cost around 6,000 euros, all expenses included. Of course, there was also the possibility to discover, while operating, that they can't do anything about it due to the position or nature of the mass or that they pop something and Lulu just dies right then and there.

Now let me pause to say I was always very independent and knew not expect anyone to help me. I basically raised myself, at least emotionally. It has always been difficult for me as an adult to ask for even the slightest favor or helping hand from someone, even for silly things. I never felt like I deserved it, and why would someone bother to do something nice for me? My worst nightmare was to ask for money. I had an uncle who, for years, had been offering to buy a car or motorcycle for me and my cousins and I always politely declined. Well now, I needed to try anything that could possibly save my baby.

I thought long and hard about what would be the best for her. I wanted more time with her but I couldn't ask her what she wanted. The vets told me that the mass would bleed at random times during 'episodes' which were the reason why she'd feel drowsy - she was in pain. But then the next day and for days until it happened again, she was back to her normal self and not in any pain. I didn't want to be selfish and keep her around for my sake. But I also felt guilty that I wouldn't give her a chance to live more because I was poor. What if she wanted to live longer, even for a day, but couldn't communicate that to me and I sentenced her to a premature death? I decided to proceed with the operation. I begged everyone I knew to chip in, no one did. I asked my uncle, who said his money was gone. I stopped eating, I stopped paying the bills and didn't pay that month's rent. Though I felt stupid, I made a gofundme page and hoped for a miracle. My parents told me ''it's just an old dog, that's life, let it take its course''. Scared that I'll use the remaining money, they transferred it to another account I couldn't access. I couldn't even vent to them about this.

On top of everything, I had just been hired in late August at my first job ever, which was very demanding and stressful with lots of training and memorization, so I was away from home for at least 10 hours a day with no friends to pet sit for me and no money for a dog sitter. That was weighing heavily on me. I was constantly thinking she would either die while I wasn't home with her or that she was bleeding out and in pain. Either way, I was a failure and she was alone. But I needed the money from that job though it was just 650 a month. I was so desperate that I even considered selling my body for quick money. I was healthy, average looking and 23 years old. Surely, that would be the fastest way for me to find money, if it worked.

But time ran out. One day, after work, I took her for a walk. She was her usual perfect self. Then I went to the pet shop and got her snacks that her special diet previously didn't allow. There was nothing to lose now. She was already ill, and deserved a bit of happiness - even if it came in the form of bone-shaped biscuits. I kept imagining how her tail would be wagging and how excited she'd be to finally have some forbidden snacks. But when I came home, she looked drowsy again. And it was worse than ever. I didn't know if this was just another episode or THE episode. She didn't accept food or water. She wasn't reactive to my touch. I tried picking her up and seeing if she was up for a walk which was usually the tell-tale sign that she was having a hard time. She peed herself right there. I remember she looked at me as if she was telling me she was sorry she couldn't control it and scared that I'd yell at her. I hugged her and took her to the bathtub. As soon as I picked her up, my heart sank. I can't explain this very well, but it felt as if *she was the heaviest and lightest she had ever been.*

She couldn't stand in the bathtub and she didn't even try to avoid the bubbles while I was rinsing her off. That's when I knew it was over. She always hated the baths and water running close to her face, though she never really resisted bath time. But now, she couldn't even bother.

It was very late so I had to call a 24/7 clinic to make sure they were ready for us. I called a pet friendly taxi and we sped off to the clinic. I don't remember the drive. I only remember how it felt to hold her. I knew it was over but I was praying I was wrong. After I briefed them and showed them the tests, the vet told me she was experiencing a hemorrhagic shock. Her best chance at surving the night was a blood transfusion. They didn't allow me to stay in the premises though I begged and pleaded with them. I didn't want to be away from her. I wanted to be in the same building so she could feel me there, so that at least I knew I was there for her, no matter what. They sent me home and I barely slept. I messaged my manager in the early hours to take the day off. At around 7 am, a phone call from the clinic woke me up.

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Tears made my vision blurry but I got dressed within seconds. I used an app to book a taxi and on my way out, right before entering the cab, another phone call:

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At the clinic, I hugged her still warm body. I removed the towel so I could see her for the last time. I cried and I screamed. And I hugged her but not too tight - I didn't want to hurt her. I think I must have been there for half an hour. I had to exit the room and go to the reception area to let them know I said my goodbyes. The people waiting for their own pets lowered their heads. They understood what was happening and didn't want to pry. I had to immediately go into logistics mode: what to do with the body, where will she go, how will she go there, how much it costs...The burial was scheduled for the next day. I borrowed money from my boyfriend to pay off the clinic and pay for the burial in the best pet cemetery. They let me see her for one last time before they put her in the casket and threw dirt over her. Then the artificial turf and then the grey plaque over it. And that was it. **Thirteen years of my life just gone.**

I went home to an empty home. We only got three years together there. I thought my heart would literally break. I was in so much pain. I was all alone. The only supportive person was 1,700 miles away with a 9-5 job and no days off to fly to me. I had to go back to work to keep me sane, to stop me from constantly thinking what she'd be doing now, how she'd be eating her food outside her bowl, how she'd be sitting on the long curtain, how she'd been looking at me with her mischievous eyes, how she'd fake bark, how she'd politely wait behind the door to let me know she needed a walk, how she'd snore so loudly. I had nothing to live for anymore.

The guilt was overwhelming too. *Had I done enough? Did I wait too long? Did she suffer? Did she know I loved her? Did I love her enough? Had I made any mistakes that caused the cancer if it was cancer? Did she suffer? Did she have this since early 2019 or just for the last month?*

Weeks later, I gathered the strength to call the vet and ask if she was aware of her surroundings before that second heart attack. She told me she definitely wasn't. I was worried she was conscious, scared and all alone, without me there. Did she feel like I abandoned her?

Surprisingly, I did well when seeing other dogs or people mentioned their own pet loss stories. But it would hit me out of the blue when delivery guys would ask me why my dog isn't barking as usual. I had to tell them she passed away to explain the silence. I would break down and spiral from there.

The 7th death anniversary is coming up in a week. *I have not been able to get another pet*. Once, I tried to foster a dog with the possibility of adopting her if it went well. But I totally shut down and wanted nothing to do with the dog as soon as she did one thing that reminded me of Lulu. In the first years after Lulu's death, I felt like I'd be betraying her if I got another pet and I was also afraid I wouldn't love the new pet, like I'd only get it as band aid for my pain. Though that's no longer my fear, I cannot handle the constant worrying that I will one day (maybe sooner than I expect) part with someone I love so much. Not again. I haven't even 'survived' the first time.

Over the years, I have been accumulating things that remind me of her and/or that I dedicate to her. There's a little shrine area in my living room with books about dogs, a drawing of her from 2016, her memorial box, dog figurines and of course, lots of pine cones from my travels. Those and my memories with her, are all I have left.

Last month, during a summer vacation, I found myself trying to pet dogs at a Budapest park. Foue times I failed to muster the courage to approach the people. I convinced myself the fifth dog would be my last chance before I gave up for the night. The owner was very friendly and allowed me to pet their dog. Of course I asked what their gender, age and name was. It was a 5-year-old female Border Collie named Lulu.

\- -

Please give your animals an extra warm hug from me and Lulu. And if your own pets have crossed the rainbow bridge, and ever happen upon Lulu, pass on the message that **she was the bestest girl.**

7 grueling years since I lost my best friend