From ‘Lazy’ to Daisy: A Dog’s Second Chance

By: Zahava Katz-Perlish

She was a familiar sight to passersby walking past the yard in North Chicago, and to those who drove through the narrow alley where she sometimes wandered, unaware of the danger. A long red cable was fastened around her neck and, if you looked carefully, you’d see its other end tied to a tree trunk, defining her small world. Beside the tree stood a bare wooden doghouse, bereft of comfort, and above its opening her name was painted in bright colors: Lazy.

Origin—Daisy Tied to Tree

She stood on dry soil with bits of grass. Her sturdy body, built with the restrained strength of a pit bull, was coated with tan-blond fur, except for her white sock-like paws, and a matching white patch spreading across her chest, climbing to her neck and reappearing on her sweet face. Her beautiful brown eyes framed by dark fur like Cleopatra’s eyeliner, were looking straight ahead with curiosity. Her pink tongue peeked out, and a faint dirt stain marked her forehead. That’s how she appeared in the photograph taken the day the animal shelter manager and a police officer came to check on her.

It’s hard to imagine her enduring North Chicago’s harsh frigid winter, the wind and snow blowing through the yard. I could only hope that, as the family claimed, she spent those times in the basement. The officer asked the family if they would surrender her, and they agreed. From there, she was brought to the animal shelter, a first step toward a better life, where she was finally safe, sheltered, and cared for by everyone who met her. She was aptly named Daisy, as bright and sunny, as the flower.

One morning, our friend Hannah, a devoted dog rescuer, got a call from the North Chicago shelter: “We’re running out of space. There’s a wonderful dog you should meet, maybe you could foster her.” Hannah made the hour-long drive to the shelter to meet Daisy and was charmed.

Daisy’s life with Hannah was a world apart from her beginnings. She finally had a loving home, soft beds and sofas to curl up on, daily walks, and adventures in nature, nose to the ground, delighting in every scent along the way.

Photography: Marc Perlish

Soon after our beloved dog, Lyla, passed, Hannah asked if we’d like to meet Daisy. We were still heartbroken, but we agreed. Daisy made quite an entrance, buzzing into the room, her tail wagging wildly, body rippling in those joyful waves only pit bulls possess. She leaped onto the sofa, then to the floor, and then to a chair, with a vivacious energy. In between, she managed to sniff us curiously. Having a soft spot for pit bulls, their sweetness and warmth, not long after we decided to foster her.

When we brought Daisy home, she immediately set off on a tour of discovery, nose leading the way to every new scent. When we attempted to take her on her very first walk with us, Daisy had other plans. Somehow, she slipped right out of the front door and dashed through the backyards across the street like an escape artist. My husband, Marc, circled the block in the car while I searched on foot, calling her name. Marc found her deeply immersed in the very important business of sniffing someone’s lawn on the next street. With the help of a treat, he coaxed her into the car and drove home. We considered the lesson learned, mostly by us.

Photography: Marc Perlish

At the beginning, Daisy felt that a detailed exploration of the house was necessary. Some of the plants in the living room didn’t stand a chance, as she pulled them out of their pots, perhaps thinking they smelled better that way. What’s inside her bed became an object of intense curiosity, and she tore through the cover to find out. Sheets covering her beds fared no better, and her toys didn’t escape her thorough inspections and evisceration.

Initially, at night, and when we left the house for a few hours, she was confined to her crate. That was our second mistake. We soon discovered that once she wasn’t confined, her fascination with tearing things apart, beds, sheets, or plants, disappeared. Another lesson learned.

We quickly fell deeply in love with Daisy and adopted her.

Photography: Marc Perlish

Daisy’s favorite place was the backyard with its spacious lawn, large trees, plants, branches, and the irresistible scents of critters. It was her personal amusement park. She’d proudly parade around with the biggest branch she could find, then flop down to chew off the bark. When she wasn’t chasing balls or inspecting every plant and patch of dirt, she’d find a sunny spot and settle in for a sunbath. Winter brought other delights like leaping through the snow, munching on mouthfuls of it, and dashing about with icicles hanging from her mouth. Daisy was pure joy in motion, curious, goofy, energetic, and sublime.

She loved the great outdoors. On her first trip to the dog beach, the moment we opened the gate she hurled herself straight into the lake like a torpedo. Someone shouted, “Who’s the rocket”, and yes, that blur of fur was Daisy. She leapt through the water, chased other dogs’ toys, and outran them all.

Car rides were another favorite, as they usually meant something exciting. Sometimes they led to the lively streets of downtown Chicago, where Daisy once made quite an impression by pooping right in front of people dining at an outdoor café. Other times, the rides took her to nature preserves where new worlds awaited her nose. From the rocky trails of Starved Rock State Park to the wide bird-filled expanses of Horicon Marsh, Daisy explored it all. Every trip was an expedition, and every new smell was worth investigating.

But most of all, Daisy loved us. At home, she always stayed close by. During dinner, she’d settle under the table, and curl up nearby while we watched TV, always somehow knowing exactly where to be. She had a sixth sense for our plans, knowing when we were planning to go out with or without her, her face showing betrayal when it was the latter.

She’d wait by the door, looking forlorn whenever we left, and when Marc was the one to go, she’d lie nearby, ready to greet him the moment he returned. As she grew older, she’d whimper softly at his departure. And always, when we came home, we were delighted to see her by the door, tail wagging, her whole body dancing blissfully.

She’d charm our guests with her warmth and playfulness, curling up beside them on a sofa or bed when invited. She loved nothing more than playing tug of war, growling while you tried to pull her toy or touch her. Guests were alarmed at first, but soon learned, this growl was just part of her exuberant play style, encouraging the game to continue. Daisy never used this growl for anything else but play.

Our love for her was boundless and grew more and more each day. There was nothing more soothing and lovely than sitting beside Daisy, stroking her soft fur, feeling her warmth and contentment. She was the most wonderful creature in the universe—and I told her so, every day. How lucky we were to have her in our lives!

About a year ago, Daisy began showing signs of an eating disorder. After visits to the vet, along with ultrasounds and blood tests, she was diagnosed with inflammatory bowel disease. She was treated with medication, vitamins, and a special diet, and for about nine months she seemed to be doing fine.

Then one morning, she refused her breakfast, and her walk had slowed to a shuffle. We took her to immediate care, where tests revealed an internal mass and severe internal bleeding. Surgery, the vet said gently, wasn’t an option. The shock was overwhelming; we both broke down in tears. The vet suggested letting her go right then, but we couldn’t. We wanted one more night, one more day with her, to hold her close and fill that time with love.

And that’s exactly what we did. We lay beside her on her bed, on the floor, and on the chaise lounge in the garden, where she soaked up the last rays of sun. Even now, as I write this, the tears still come.

Letting her go was the hardest thing to do. We held Daisy in our arms as she took her last breath. The sorrow, pain, and grief that followed is too difficult to describe in words.

Today, as the first snow of the season falls, I look out at the white, glistening garden and imagine Daisy there, leaping through the snow, burying her face in it, munching a bit before dashing off again on her joyful tour of the magical garden.