When I first met Tillie, I was an absolute mess. I was jobless and felt no motivation to change that, I had a chronic illness causing me pain, I didn’t know what direction to go in life, and I was horribly depressed. I just wanted to spend my time in bed, letting life pass by.

Then a cousin working at the pound introduced me to Tillie.

Tillie was about a year old, and had been dumped by her previous owners. With Australian Cattle Dog in her genes, she was driven to herd, and at the pound that included vehicles passing the outdoor play area. She was only 50lbs, but in her mind, those vehicles were simply things to be herded, so she chased up and down the fence.

Then Tillie saw me. Suddenly, she ran up, and immediately flipped onto her back at my feet, waiting for tummy scratches.

I had met other pound dogs before, but the connection I felt with Tillie was immediate. She came home that same day.

At first it was not easy for either of us. I was still struggling with depression, and Tillie had some trauma from her old owners that we had to work through. However, we had each other now, and that made all the difference.

I got a job to make sure I could feed her. I went on walks to keep her healthy. The good it did for me was just a bonus, but with time, we both healed.

Her favourite activities were: pulling me on my rollerblades, hiking, herding cattle, playing with dogs, and hunting. Dogs were fine to love, humans were fine to love, but everything else was her prey. Her record with just one trip to the dog park was seven mice, which is a number I can confidently confirm because she would always proudly trot up to present her kills at my feet. It was a kind gesture. Gross, but kind.

Naturally, for the sake of wildlife everywhere, she was only allowed to be off leash at dog parks or on our own property.

Despite her high kill count, Tillie was also sweet as could be and willing to sit for hours with anyone who would give her pets. With my arm hanging off the bed, I would pet her every single night until either she or I fell asleep. If I woke up in the night, Tillie always assumed it was to pet her, so would roll onto her back for tummy scratches no matter what time it was.

On mornings when my chronic illness caused my limbs to feel like heavy vices were weighing me down, Tillie would be there, telling me she needed food. If it were up to me, I would have stayed in bed on those days and wasted away, but it was not up to me, because I was powerless in the face of those large amber-brown eyes and excited smile. So, despite my pain and exhaustion, I’d peel myself out of bed. Since I was up anyway, I would often end up feeding myself too.

If I was too sick or it was too cold out for her Australian blood, Tillie would happily walk on the treadmill instead, with her tail wagging every step.

Sadly, nothing lasts forever.

Age finally caught up with Tillie, so yesterday I had to put my little hero down. 14 years old is a respectable age for her breed to reach(almost half my life), and though I don’t regret bringing her home all those years ago, I have to admit my heart is shattered.

It’s impossible to stop the “I should have…” thoughts, as if I could have somehow prevented this. Along with that always follows the “What if…” thoughts, as if there was something I could have done to make her healthy again, even though I would gladly have maxed out my credit card if there was. Occasionally, I think this pain is too much and want to change my mind, but there is no going back; she’s gone.

To ease some of the guilt I feel, I forced myself to go through old photos of her today, and it did help to see how much she had changed. Her fur greyed, her body structure changed, and in the last year, she had started to lose the sparkle in her eye. In case it would also help, I decided to write this post(though I was not sure if I was going to publish it).

Luckily, I have company to help me through this pain. About three years ago, I decided I wanted another dog so that Tillie could help me train him.

That very same week I came to my decision, my (possibly psychic) cousin got in contact with me to say there was a puppy she wanted me to look at. She knew his powerful breed would not be right for everyone, but somehow knew he’d be a fit for me. I visited, and the very first thing that crazy little puppy did was bite me right on the butt. By the time I left with him, my arms were covered with puppy teeth bite marks.

What can I say? I liked his spirit.

I named him Haggis, based on the totally real and not at all fake deadly wild haggis roaming around Scotland. Also, the looks people give when I call his name is priceless.

Tillie always fawned over puppies. She would carefully groom them, gently correct them, and keep alert to possible dangers. So, Tillie immediately adopted this little terror too.

Tillie corrected Haggis when he bit too hard, showed him where to go to the toilet, and somehow Haggis even learnt how to walk on the treadmill. One day after Tillie was done her treadmill time, Haggis randomly hopped on it. Curiosity got the better of me, so I turned it on, and he started walking.

I knew she was going to help me train him, but honestly, it felt like I was using some sort of puppy cheat code. With her help, he grew from that gremlin of a puppy, to a well-behaved dog almost double her weight.

Tillie being gone has left a painful hole in my heart and life, but a small part of her stayed through the lessons left with both Haggis and myself. She taught me many things, one of which was that when life looks bleak, focusing on those who need and love you can help guide you forward.

I can tell Haggis misses her too and does not quite understand where she is, but at least we have each other. I promise to take good care of your puppy, Tillie.

A very long time ago when I was on a trip, someone asked me “Do you miss home?” And I paused to think about it, then said “No, but I miss my dog.”