Leigheaux

 

Leigheaux Lee "Bigfoot" Lyons Luquet, renegade standard poodle, master counter surfer, bread bandit and human walker, crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Sunday, March 29, 2020. He was about 12 years old, but no one knows for sure as his early life was a mystery. We just know he wandered out of a swamp near Denham Springs, Louisiana, one day, grumpy, suspicious of humans and in need of food and a grooming. He was promptly named "Bigfoot." After his photo appeared on the Creole Poodle Rescue site, he was snapped up by the Luquets of Norco and re-christened, Leigheaux the Cajun Poodle.

And if he had been a teenage boy, he would have been perpetually grounded. Leigheaux spent the rest of his days stealing food left within his reach, digging in the garbage, begging for food, following Mom into the kitchen and the upstairs closet, staring out of windows and plotting the murder of the mailman, the UPS man and every utility company person who dared to walk in his yard. He was successful in scaring every one of them away, every day. He didn't particularly care for squirrels, either, and watched them out the window until he felt they were within striking distance. Of course, by the time he bolted out the doggie door and rounded the corner of the house, the squirrel was long gone. He never gave up in this effort, however, not even on his last days.

As a poodle, Leigheaux was supposed to enjoy water; he did not. In fact, Leigheaux wanted nothing to do with the big, beautiful swimming pool in his backyard and only jumped in once -- when a particularly loud firecracker went off nearby on the Fourth of July.

In between, Leigheaux enjoyed pilfering whatever food item he could reach on the counters, tables and buffets and from unsuspecting houseguests. He particularly enjoyed whole loaves of bread, not caring that it had become a very rare commodity in recent days because of the Corona Virus quarantine. In his last months, he became more brazen in his thievery, smashing not one but two jars of Milkbone treats in one week. He also became convinced that Mom was going to give him whatever she was eating and that, every time she got up off the sofa, she was indeed going to get something for him to eat. He knew Dad wasn't.



But more than anything, Leigheaux loved his morning walks with Mom to the park and back. When Mom was working at home and taking care of Grandma, it was a daily occurrence with his late sister, Lollee Sue. Sometimes, he would follow Mom upstairs and into the closet to see if she was, indeed, putting her sneakers on. If she slept too late, he would pounce on the bottom stairs until she woke up. If she did come downstairs in the proper attire, Leigheaux would do his amazing happy dance at the bottom of the stairs.

But age began to catch up to Leigheaux. It got more and more difficult for him to walk on the hardwood floors. Sometimes he couldn't get up after laying down. He no longer could manage the stairs at all. What began as a cyst on his shoulder grew to a very large, very angry tumor that could not be removed and would not get better. And last week, Mom finally had to go to the park without him. He did manage to chase a squirrel on his last happy day, however, but could not catch it.

Leigheaux leaves a family who loved him very much and neighbors who did not; Lola, the little one, who is happy she no longer has to share the treats but is too short to steal off the counters; and lots of puddles around the house that he never managed to get caught leaving.

I hope you and Lollee Sue are together again, my boy, chasing squirrels forever.

Lollee Sue

Lollee Sue, 2002-2012

Lollee Sue Lyons-Luquet, the Best Standard Poodle in the World, went gently and quietly to the Rainbow Bridge on Friday, May 4, 2012 at 9:50 a.m. She was almost 10 years old.

Born  June 24, 2002 in Metairie, Louisiana,  Lollee was the daughter of Ali Bali and Breheney's Sam. She was adopted by the Lyons-Luquet family on August 17, 2002, as a gift from Sam's family, Tom and Sue Brahney, who were sad that the Luquets had to put down both of their dogs in the same week. They offered the Luquets the "pick of the litter."

And she certainly was.

Lollee spent her life guarding the living room sofa, cuddling on mom's feet, begging for bread (her favorite treat), enjoying the occasional Skittle, and licking the ice cream bowls when mom and dad were done. She loved long walks, lying in the sun, chasing the stupid squirrels in the back yard, and the cat, and looking out the living room window.

 Her job was to scoop up whatever crumbs fell under the table and whatever the party people left behind, to eat the bread crusts on mom's sandwiches, and whatever Lora Leigh could not (or did not want to) finish. And to wait for the bus.

A natural born singer, Lollee often sang for her treats  but not always on command (much to mom's dismay). She could say mom's nickname, "Lolo" and occasionally tell you what was on top of the house ("Roof").  But she only danced when anyone touched her hot pink leash or when mom put on her sneakers, as that meant she was going for a walk to the park. Or so she thought.


 Lollee's sweet temperament and calm nature made her a perfect candidate to become a member of the New Orleans Visiting Pet Program, and she breezed through the training. For two years, Lollee and Lori made monthly visits to area nursing homes and hospitals to bring a little love and a few smiles to those who were ailing.  Her patience was endless and she would enjoy being pet and loved and fussed over for as long as anyone wanted to. Lollee was a regular at the Waldon Center in Kenner, where she thrilled the residents  with her hot pink toenails.

Lollee leaves to mourn her loss a grieving family, an adopted brother Leigheaux (the world's dumbest standard poodle), a couple of squirrels, and a host of friends and family members who loved her and will miss her dearly. We will miss her songs, miss her smiles and miss her love.

She will be cremated and her ashes interred in mom's rose garden in the front yard. Or, she might just hang out with Pappy on the bookshelf for a while.

It's time

After a long talk -- well, listen -- with the vet, we have decided that it is time. Time to let Lollee Sue go and be with Pappy.  And Parker. And God.

Tomorrow. When I can be there to see her through to the end and then bring her home to my little rose garden in the front where we put Laycee, and Lucy, and Lyon, and Shelley, the kids' cocker spaniel.

We still don't know exactly what happened. She still can't walk.  Perhaps it was the rabies shot. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that she had her first seizure on the day she got it. Maybe it's meningitis. Now they're thinking tumor. Somewhere. But we can't afford to find it.

And what if we do?

I am sad. I love this dog so much. I love the how smart she is. I love how gentle she is. I love that she sings for her bones. And that she says Lolo.

But I know I did everything I could within my means. I don't want her to suffer.

But I will.

Wordless Wednesday -- Miracle Dog

Lollee Sue. Better.

Puppy tales

I have never felt so helpless in my life.

I was lying on the floor, looking into what were supposed to be the eyes of my best friend, my most faithful companion, my fourth child. But her eyes weren't there. They were rolled back in her head. And all I could see was white.

My baby, my girl, my Lollee Sue was having yet another seizure of some kind. and I had no idea how to help her.

By my count this was her seventh since April 7, the day I took my almost 10-year-old standard poodle to the vet for routine shots and to have him check out her front leg. The last time we had gone for one of our walks to the park, I noticed that she had a slight limp. Not in the paw, not in the "elbow" joint (if dogs have an elbow), but in the shoulder area. I told all this to the vet.

"Oh, she told you that, did she," he remarked, with a little bit of sarcasm.

"Yes," I replied. "She pretty much did."


I know my dog, dude.  She's only my most loyal and faithful friend. My companion. The guardian of my house, my yard, my child and the squirrel the other dog tries to catch. The one soul who can always make me feel better, no matter how bad a day I've had. The one who never gets mad when I rub my feet on her.

My girls

We got her in the spring of 2001, the weekend after I had made the heart-breaking decision to put, not one but both of my dogs down.

 Lucy Lu, the crazy mutt, had escaped from our yard and gotten hit by a car a few years prior. We spent more than $1,000 putting her shattered pelvis back together, then I got to teach her how to walk again. I can honestly say that one of the happiest moments of my life was the day Lucy stood in the back yard on her own, without my help. Marty and I cheered.

But she got older. Arthritis set in. And by now Lora was learning to walk. Lucy could not get out of the way fast enough. Most times she didn't bother to lift her hips off the floor, but just dragged them behind her.  And she often left little trails.

I didn't see it, but one day a visitor took one look at my dog trailing her legs and said, "Oh, that poor little dog." I realized it was time.

But in the meantime, my 13 year old standard poodle, Laycee, crashed. Laycee who lived with me in my tiny little Uptown apartment, who loved to play fetch with her orange rubber ball,  who ate a loaf of bread once, and an entire box of donuts without leaving a single crumb or speck of sugar behind,  who had to spend caterpillar season with my parents until I found her dog shoes - ReBarks, who went with me to a bar in New Orleans, who only wanted a kid to play with her whole life. Who probably  saved my life just by barking at the stranger who knocked on our door one night.

All of a sudden she stopped eating, stopped moving much, and began licking her front paw constantly. Her fur got rough and dull and her eyes lost their sparkle. It was time.

On that Friday we carefully lifted Laycee into the car for the ride to the vet. I stayed with her, held her head in my hands and told her I loved her as the vet gave her her last shot. Then we took her home and buried her in the front yard with the orange ball that was her constant companion. She could spend hours playing with that thing. She would simply drop it in your lap, back up, sit and wait until you decided to throw it to her. Sometimes for hours.

The very next day I took Lucy on her last ride.

That week, one of my mother's friends took pity on me and offered me a puppy. Her dog, Sammy, the brother to my mom's Lula Mae, had sired a litter and offered us her pick. We picked Lollee, and named her for a then-coworker whom I forced to sign a waiver declaring that she was not offended in any way. She wasn't.

Since then this dog has been my faithful companion for nearly 10 years. The dog I walked to the park. The dog I taught to sing. To say my name.(I swear she says "Lolo.") Who sometimes will tell me what's on top of my house ("Roof") or how sandpaper feels ("Ruff).

 The beautiful dog who used to accompany me to area nursing homes and hospitals to bring a little cheer to those in need of it. Blessed with only a dog's patience, she would stand next to beds for as long as anyone wanted to pet her and look at me with eyes that seemed to say, "I'm doing good, aren't I, Mom?"

That's one way to do it.

She was doing great.

At one facility we frequented, there was a pair of ladies who sat in the hallway every Sunday. They would see us coming.

"Oh! Look at the dog!" they would exclaim.

Lollee and I would visit with them for a while. They would pet her soft, snow white fur and marvel over her hot pink toe nails (which I did just for them). They would ask her name and how old she was, just as though she were a child. Then Lollee and I would mosey on down the hall to our next residents.


On the way back, we'd see the two ladies again.


"Oh! Look at the dog!" they would exclaim. And we would repeat the process all over again.


Lollee was the perfect dog for that job. Me? Not so much. The toll became too great on me. Hearing the sobs and cries of the resident who constantly called for her Mommy, seeing familiar faces one month but not the next.

Lollee also is the smartest dog in the universe. Yes, she does say "Lolo." She also knows the words "walk," "leash," "bone," "outside," "car," "Lora," "bed," "bus," "Skittles," and "bread." She knows that "cuddle" means she gets to lie on the sofa by my feet as we take a nap.  And yes she can sing.

Watching the world go by.

But she hadn't done any of those things for the past two weeks.

Eventually the vet agreed that my dog had told me she was in pain, said she had arthritis and gave me a HUGE bottle of pills to give her, plus a smaller bottle of pain pills if she needed them. Then he gave her a rabies shot.

"That'll be $265."

And that should have been that. I took her home. Gave her one of the arthritis pills and a Milk Bone, then headed off with Lora Leigh who needed a hair cut.

When we returned about two hours later, Lollee came limping into the living room to see us. She didn't look good and was drooling profusely. I figured the pills had upset her stomach. I apologized to her.

That night Lollee was sound asleep with Lora Leigh on a futon mattress on the floor when Lora woke with a start. Lollee had relieved herself in the bed and was thrashing. We comforted them both as best we could and sent Lora up to her bedroom for the rest of the night. That was our first indication that Lollee was having seizures.

Sunday afternoon she had one in our back yard. She was walking toward the house when, suddenly, she dropped and began thrashing. It scared the hell out of us. And her, I'm sure. It took her about five minutes to come out of it completely. We could tell she didn't know what had just happened to her.

 She had another one Monday morning.

So the vet gave me phenobarbital, the common drug prescribed for seizures in both humans and animals. The seizures stopped. But by Wednesday, she could not stand up. Her hind legs would split on my hardwood floors. She started to look like a bobble head dog.

I stopped the pills on Thursday. She had another seizure on Monday. The whole past week has been one giant experiment. Give her pills, don't give her pills.  She seemed to be having smaller seizures, but more frequently. One day she had four seizures within about three hours. She didn't eat for three days. We finally got her to drink some chicken broth on Wednesday.

We put her back on the pills. On Thursday she could barely stand up and could hardly walk. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I was waiting for her to take her last breath.

On Friday morning Marty took her to the vet. They've run tests, taken X-rays and put her on an antibiotic. Today they say she is better, but still "heavy" in the hindquarters. Today the vet mentioned that it might be meningitis (which would make a whole hell of a lot of sense!).

There's a 50 percent chance that she'll come home.

Waiting for the bus with Pappy.

So I sit and wait, picturing her alone and in a cage, wondering why this is happening, wondering where I am. I'm here, second-guessing every decision I've made over the past two weeks and trying to figure out what to do next.

And if I'm ready to say good-bye.

Just a few weeks ago I cried my eyes out reading A Dog's Purpose, by W. Bruce Cameron. It's the story of a dog who lives many lives trying to find his purpose in life.  In the end, he does and knows that he was a good dog.

And  it gives me hope that Lollee has found hers and that she knows that she is the best dog ever.

Lollee Sue, Best Dog in the World

UPDATE:  On onday morning (4/23) Lollee Sue was alert, walking, eating and even singing. She has had no more seizures (knock wood). And she got to come home. We have some more time. 

Leigheaux the neurotic poodle

This is the story of a dog named Leigheaux.

For those of you not of the Cajun persuasion, that's pronounced "Leo."

He's a standard poodle, and a fine one at that. He has soft, curly jet black fur, with just a hint of a little tuft of white on his chest. And his eyes are so dark that sometimes you can barely see them. He's tall and strong, if a little skinny. His hips and his back legs probably aren't as strong as they should be. And I don't know why that is.

He came to us in the summer of 2006 from a poodle rescue group. Skinny, scared and scarred for life, he wandered out of a swamp near Denham Springs into the backyard of a local woman who promptly named him Big Foot. From there, he was sent to another woman in Prairieville, and she posted his picture on the Internet. That's how I found him.

I'm already the mom to Lollee Sue, the world's greatest poodle. Sweet, soft and very smart, Lollee has never given us a day of trouble. Oh, OK. It took her a while to figure out that she was supposed to go out the doggie door to pee, not just go to it and stop. And she did eat a few of Lora's toys when both were babies. But she grew into a wonderful dog with the sweetest disposition. For the last three years she and I have made monthly visits to local nursing homes and hospitals as part of the Visiting Pet Program.

But I worried about her. Our schedules are so crazy and we are gone so much, I worried that she was home alone too much. So I started looking for a companion. And I got sticker shock! The ads in the paper wanted anywhere between $400 and $800!! Lollee was a gift to us from the owners of a sire who were offered a pick of the litter. They took pity on me after I had to put both of my dogs down the same week. Laycee was my first standard and my constant companion for 13 years. Lucy was the funniest mutt dog I've ever seen. Both crashed the same week and are now buried in our front yard, next to another rescued standard named Lyon and near a statue of St. Francis Asissi. So I started checking the Internet for rescues. And that's how I found Leigheaux.

Marty was adamant. He didn't want another dog. But I drove to Prairieville, "just to look."

He growled at me when I walked in the room. Didn't want anything to do with me. Wouldn't even look at me. He was curled up on the floor next to his caretaker, who tried to shush him. But he just growled at me. He had a slight limp back then, but no obvious injury. I was very leery, not knowing if he would bite. Eventually he took a piece of a bone from me. And eventually he was in the back of my car, headed to Norco.

It took him a long, long time to trust us. Even longer to love us. He still distrusts strange men (who doesn't?), especially if they're wearing a hat. He has gotten used to the neighbors, but he absolutely hates the mailman and simply cannot understand how and why that stuff comes through the slot in the door every day. In his frustration, he often eats it. And he detests bicycles.

I wish I knew why. I wonder what they did to him. I am so glad I do not know. They did something to his snout that left scars of some type. He is constantly rubbing his nose on the side of the sofa to scratch it. And he doesn't like me to touch it.

I wish I knew what his name was. Sometimes I throw names out to see if he responds. I think he was an Oreo (for his little white tuft). But I should have named him Shadow. Everywhere I go, he goes -- especially to the closet. That is where I change into my walking clothes. He loves, loves, loves to walk. And his limp is long gone.

Like me, he is a night owl. Loves to stay up late, prowling around the yard. Sleeps late. Plays all night. I can hear him sometimes, running around, playing by himself. And on more than one occasion that has gotten him in big, big trouble. He liked to eat things -- toys, furniture, shoes, books. Anything, really.

But he also earns his keep. As much as his barking can annoy us and the neighbors and the meter readers and the pool guy, I feel a lot safer with him here. Lollee would likely invite you in and show you the good stuff. Leigheaux will scare you.

Then, there is his squirrel. Marty has a bunch of bird feeders hanging in the tree outside our dining room window. And there is a persistent squirrel who loves to raid them. And Leigheaux firmly believes he is going to catch him one day. He will stand for hours in the dining room, looking out the window, waiting for that squirrel to come his way. And just when he thinks that squirrel has let its guard down, Leigheaux will barrel out the back door to get him. Of course, that takes about five seconds, giving the squirrel plenty of time to make his get away. So Leigheaux comes back inside, and waits. And this goes on all ..... day ..... long .....

There is no doubt in my mind that Leigheaux would kill that squirrel if he had the chance.. And he probably would bring him inside and plop him on my sofa to show me that he had, as if to say, "See I told you I'd get him one day."

There have been many days when I came home to find a living room full of tattered paper and destroyed magazines. And puddles. And sprays. And plops in the wrong places in the yard. And dead plants. And chewed up Barbies. And some visitors have left our house little teeth marks on their butts. And my hardwood floor has some nasty scratches on in. But I have Leigheaux. And I think I'm pretty lucky.