Adrian Barich: a sad farewell to our last pug, Lily, and a thank you for the lessons about love and loss

I lost my title. Subi’s Pug Man is no more. It was a nickname I wore with pride, thanks to the three beautiful, fluffy-faced little pugs who were such a big part of our family story.

But this week the story took a heartbreaking turn. Our last boxer, Lily, is no longer with us.

Lily was special. He lived until he was 15 years old. It’s a wonderful age for a dog. We were told she was a purebred boxer, but as we got older our vet admitted something that shocked us: Lily was not a purebred boxer. We were deceived.

This was no surprise, as he had a neat nose and, as many know, the face of a “real” boxer is one of nature’s greatest paradoxes.

Crushed, wrinkled, bug-eyed, and completely ridiculous. But somehow it’s completely irresistible. Like a face only a mother could love. . . Except everyone loves him.

For Lily, this turned out to be a blessing. His mixed heritage may be why he outlived his boxer brothers, who sadly died of lymphoma aged just 10 and under.

But ultimately it is true that dogs have only one real flaw: They don’t live long enough.

Lily’s final days were difficult to watch. He had what the vet described as a neurological problem. His legs were no longer working properly and one of his eyes wouldn’t stop twitching. He was confused and scared and couldn’t move without falling.

The world around him no longer seemed to make sense. It was sad to watch. The lively little dog we had known for years had withered before our eyes.

Always the most optimistic person, I initially thought this was just a temporary phase and maybe he would sleep over. But unfortunately nothing has changed.

We knew. It was time. The vet continued to reassure us that we were doing the right thing, even saying it was an honor to help Lily go. And I could tell he really meant it.

Lily was gorgeous when she was young. Picture a light brown pug, but his nose is longer than usual, almost like a gentle cross between a pug and a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

He had the amiable charm of a boxer. Pugs are, of course, the clowns of the dog world.

And now the Barich family feels emptier. We have our new dog, Frank, a Cavalier-French Bulldog cross, as well as a cat named Tom and a saddled Kevin pommel rabbit.

Frank looks as lost as the rest of us, searching for Lily, eager to play with his old friend.

Dogs are extraordinary creatures. They are very cheerful. A good dog asks for nothing, forgives everything and is always excited when he sees you. This is greatness.

But there are always so many wonderful days, and then there’s one really terrible day.

Thank you. Thank you for loving us more than yourself.

Because I think we’re important (I’d say that’s all I need).

Your breathing, your grunts, your barks, your wagging curly pig-like furry tail. Every twitch of your ears was a question, a statement, an invitation to be loved and to love in return.

After years spent with dogs, you begin to understand them deeply. You know what every little sound and movement means. Dogs are the purest example of unconditional love known to man and the best role models of being truly alive.

Saying goodbye to a beloved dog is one of the most difficult things a parent faces. Dogs are not just animals, they are loyal companions, constant shadows and valued family members. They celebrate your best moments and quietly comfort you at your worst.

We are grateful for every moment we spent with him, every hug and every rock. We are grateful for the lessons it taught us: about joy, resilience, and the preciousness of time.

As someone once said: “Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love. They leave to teach us about loss.”