Today is a very special day for a certain four-legged, furry friend in our household: Ginger Lily, the English bulldog, is celebrating her fifth birthday! Now when I say “celebrating”, what I really mean is napping most of the day on the (Lily-fied) leather couch interjected by sporadic eating, drooling, and snorting, which is the norm for the day in the life of a bulldog. She’ll get belly-rubs, love, affection, and whatever crumbs drop her way. To be honest, every day is like a birthday to one who is The Princess.

Growing up, I was never much of a dog person, but twenty years ago, I was persuaded (while pregnant and in nurturing mode) that a cute little puppy would be an excellent idea to combine with a little human and a newborn baby to care for. Hmm. Figaro was a fairly low maintenance fluff-ball type dog, and was part of the family for 14 years. Then I was done. NO MORE DOGS. (The low maintenance one turned out to be blind, deaf, incontinent, and insane for his final year. Bless.)

Never say never. That’s what I’m learning as life goes on. My dog-less house was then daughter-less as she flew away to study on the other side of the country, and suddenly all my kids were out of homeschooling, and I realized I really missed not having anyone around. I needed a dog. Maybe a bulldog. Why not? As a writer, I’m home alone a lot, and I decided talking to myself was SO not cool…


happiness is a warm puppy quote


Enter Ginger Lily. Little Lily the bully came home with us—small enough to fit in one hand. Hard to believe as you watch her current 50 pound self lollop on the couch. She entered our home and entered our hearts. We all had a severe case of Bully Love. Unless you’ve ever owned an English Bulldog, there really are no words… so I dug out this little gem of a “poem” I wrote when she was a pup. Enjoy! 🙂



Sitting on her canine throne

The bulldog gnaws her rubber bone

With under-bite pronounced and proud

Her breathing is extremely loud


Her nursemaid brushes out the fur

Cleans up her ears (and finds a bur)

She wipes the wrinkles, pats them dry

But then lets out a dreadful cry


As Princess Lily makes a sound

That very nearly shakes the ground

The nervous nursemaid starts to squeal—

The bulldog’s gas is quite unreal


The princess stretches out a kink

And slowly ambles for a drink

She laps the water as she drools

And leaves a dozen tiny pools


She then decides to take a break

To watch T.V. while still awake

She sniffs her peoples’ feet to say,

“Could you please move? You’re in my way!”


Exhausted now, she flops her head

Upon the sofa- her new bed

She props her chin upon her paws

And Princess Lily’s snoring roars


Nothing can wake her from her dreams

No one can shift her, so it seems

Until she hears her food dish crash

Then Princess Lily makes a dash


She doesn’t care that she is fat—

It’s gone in thirty seconds flat

And then exhausted from her feast

She’s once again a snoring beast


I’m (clearly) no poet, but this sums up Lily. What’s not to love?

Lily collage

I apologize that this post is somewhat lacking in meaty content and thought-provoking words of wisdom, but sometimes you gotta throw a whimsical one in for good measure. Happy Birthday, to our not-so-little bully princess!


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