Last night, my dog Lily got out and was run over. Poor baby girl was terrified with all the fireworks, and she got hit on the same road where my accident was eight months ago.

Lily is nine years old, turning ten on October twelfth (or ten turning eleven? I always forget). She was born pure black, except for a little brown in her beard, but now her beard has gone completely white, and she has white and grey mixed in all over. She's an old lady, but she still looks like a puppy.

A really adorable puppy.

She was my little furry nurse when I came home from the hospital after my accident. She'd sleep on my bed every night for months and growl at anyone who she thought was trying to hurt me (which included my family members, whoops).

She would come outside and garden with us, being very helpful by standing nearby and staring at us, only to get distracted by the dogs next door and go off running with them.

She was way spoiled with a lot of toys, some bigger than she was, and you knew you were blessed with dog when she would accumulate multiple toys on your bedspread. She had multiple favorites, but one of them was a bright green rubber frog that she picked out all herself. My mom and sister took her birthday shopping a while ago, and she found it at the very bottom of a bin of dog toys. My dad took out the squeaker, like he did for many other of her toys, so it makes a pathetic little whining noise when you squeeze it. But she loved that frog.

She also loved a raccoon pelt that was twice as long as she was, and holding one end of that raccoon while she had the other in her mouth, growling and running around in circles around you, was hilarious.

She was very problematic at times. She had so many places to get under our fence (that we put up just for her to keep her in!), and some of our neighbors have reported seeing her two streets over. She liked to roam. One day, my younger sister and I went out for a walk slash bike ride, and we went to the end of the street. When we came back, Lily came under the fence and just trotted up to us like, "Um, you left me? It's okay I'm just inviting myself to your little party." I was worried she'd run off, but she stayed with us. Sometimes when my sister would go far off with her bike and I'd be walking behind, Lily would walk between us, looking back often to make sure I was still coming.

Such a disobedient dog, too, my ne gouta. These days, calling her name, "come," or even "cheese" (her favorite treat) wouldn't work. She'd hide under the table and just sit there while we all freaked out looking for her, ignoring us.

She was a very anxious little dog. She liked to lick things constantly, enough that it'd drive me crazy when she was licking on my bed in the middle of the night and I just wanted to sleep (and I did kick her sometimes, oops - but it worked, she'd stop :P). She'd lick her toys, the bedspread, herself (she acted like such a cat sometimes), sometimes even our clothes. When we'd pack for vacation, she'd know, and once when my dad and brother were getting ready to host a blood drive, she thought we were going out of town and got so freaked out that she a) sat in the driver's seat like "If I'm here you can't leave," and when that didn't work, she b) ran away to the neighbors who take care of her sometimes while we're gone.

But she was hilarious, adorable, and very aesthetic. I have so many wonderful pictures of her, and I'll treasure them forever. I love when her ear flips up like in the second picture; I just find it so funny and cute.

I love you, Lily baby. You're the sweetest and funniest puppo-who's-really-an-old-lady. May you rest in peace and find a heaven of eternal licking.