What Will We Talk About?
The first time I saw her, she was taking her owners for a walk down the gravel road to the office in the RV Park where we were staying. She was tiny, not even 4 pounds, but she was leading the way like she was the biggest dog in town and knew exactly where she was going. I saw her a few other times and then one day, we were finally introduced. Her name was Lola, and I was immediately smitten. Mickey invited our new friends over for dinner and guitar talk. It wasn’t long before I casually mentioned that if they ever had to find a new home for Lola that I would take her in a heartbeat. Her dad was a tour bus driver and personal assistant for a famous wrestler I’d never heard of called the Big Show. He said that Lola sometimes rode with him on the tour bus. He also drove for Aerosmith and a few other rock bands. Her mom traveled extensively too and they had to board Lola at a kennel more often than they liked. It was my lucky day when they knocked on the door of our travel trailer and asked if we wanted Lola. They brought all her things, including a suitcase filled with a wardrobe of cute outfits, a backpack, plastic steps, and several other items of her essential belongings. As they said their teary goodbyes, the wife looked at her husband and said, “What will we talk about?” I’ve never forgotten her words.
Lola instantly adopted us as her new family. She moved in and took charge. Puzzle, our Jack Russel was a year older than Lola. He didn’t seem to be too bothered as she bossed him around and even slept on top of him. However, her “lifestyle of the rich and famous" was over. She was now in a family of wanderers and her fancy wardrobe was no longer practical. She would go camping, live off the grid without air conditioning, sit around campfires, get soaking wet donning beach hair from running full speed into the Gulf Bay and have many more adventures.
I think she was born to be an explorer. She had no fear. However, she could slip out of sight in an instant and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I constantly needed to be aware of her every move. When we first took her to the farm in Fayetteville, Tennessee I set her down and momentarily looked away. The next thing I knew, she was gone. We were frantically searching for her when I heard a faint whining in the distance. Thankfully her toenail snagged a tiny grass root and she was stuck. We “lost” her many times after that. One time, we were driving in after dark and caught a glimpse of her in the headlights coming toward us, all by herself, at least 100 yards from the house. I’ll never know how she escaped the many predators that must have been watching in wait.
Through the years, Lola has been the topic of most of our conversations. I don’t think a day has gone by that Mickey and I haven’t both said, “Look at Lola,” at least a dozen times. She was always doing something funny, watching our every move and telling us when it was time for treats. She even spoke for Puzzle, knowing when he should get his bone and if he needed anything, like a bite of food off our plates. Puzzle always was the silent type. Mickey used to talk in his best Lola princess voice, saying things that constantly kept us laughing. When he reached down to pick her up he would say “No! No! Don’t pick me up! Dammit. Put me down.” as his hands swooped her up off the ground. My grandson was scared to death of her. She did have a bit of a monster look about her and was much tougher than her tiny stature suggested. She survived countless falls — walking off the edge of the deck, tumbling off the bed, falling down the stairs, and rolling down rocky embankments. More than once I thought she was seriously injured, but she would just shake it off and keep right on going. When we would come in at night after playing a gig, we had to be careful where we walked because she would be waiting up for us, sitting in the middle of a dark room. She had usually left a few land mines for us to navigate as well. Then she would start barking, scolding us for coming in so late.
A few times we made the mistake of giving her a bone which transformed her into a “devil dog,” growling and bearing her teeth if any of us came near. She even picked a fight with Snow, our 90 lb. Great Pyrenees. Fortunately, I grabbed her in the middle of her ferocious attack before Snow got too irritated.
Her passing has broken our hearts wide open. There is an aching that lingers. Suddenly my life feels like it is in slow motion with empty space, quietness, and time. I’m learning that feeling and leaning into the heaviness of loss is part of the necessary and delicate dance with life. In living her life, she taught me how to live mine. Today she is showing me what freedom feels like — freedom from worrying about her wellbeing, which I’ll admit, has consumed me. I don’t have to be afraid she will get stepped on because she silently walked up behind us, or about keeping her eyes clean, even though she couldn’t see and would bump into chair legs and guitar stands, or the many other perils that I feared.
So what will we talk about? Let’s talk about Lola. She was really something.
Lola’s Lessons for Living
Be fearless. So what if the whole world tries to tell you you’re not good enough, or young enough, strong enough, or just not enough…do it anyway.
Don’t let obstacles discourage you. If you bump into something, find a way around it.
Move with intention, in any direction.
Ask for what you want, whether it’s a bite of bacon or a belly rub.
Make your presence known. Be seen and heard.
Take care of yourself. If you’re hot, lay in the cool mud and if you’re cold snuggle up with something warm and fuzzy.
Run into the ocean. It’s just water.
