Obituary for Jenny (Jennifer LoPaws)

Came into our lives December 19, 2020 – At rest December 01, 2025

Is it silly to write an obituary for your dog? I don’t know, nor do I care. There are lives that change us quietly, without ceremony – souls that enter our world through the side door and somehow end up living in the middle of our hearts. Jenny, our sweet, shy, brown-and-white spaniel from Guanajuato, Mexico was one of those souls.

How She Found Us

Jenny came into our lives on December 19, 2020, in the middle of a pandemic that had already forced more change and grief upon us than we ever expected. Months earlier, on July 21, Kelly had lost her beloved Bella after 15 beautiful years together. The loss was sudden (lymphoma) and we were blindsided. We had always said that once Bella passed, we wouldn’t get another dog – we’d allow ourselves the freedom to travel together… to live lightly… to join each other on the road during my gigs. But life had other plans.

I listened to Kelly cry herself to sleep, night after night, heartbroken and lost without Bella. I began quietly looking into volunteer opportunities at shelters – anything to soften the sharpness of that void. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Kelly was doing her own secret searching, scrolling through adoption sites and rescue groups. She had always wanted to rescue a dog, and she eventually found Mex-Can Pet Partners, an incredible rescue organization founded by Marlene Davis. Marlene lived part-time in Guanajuato, a region overwhelmed by stray dogs, and her mission was simple and heroic: pair these animals with safe, loving homes on Vancouver Island.

Kelly began showing me photos of dogs “casually” or so I thought. I’d nod, agree that each pup was adorable, and carry on. I truly didn’t realize she was trying to find her next soul companion.

Then she showed me a picture of Jenny.

And my heart fluttered.

“I guess that’s our dog, huh?” I heard myself say.

Kelly screamed, “REALLY?!?!” and that was it. The door swung wide open, and little Jenny was about to walk through it.

A Dog With a Past… and a Second Chance

Part of why she caught my eye when Kelly initially showed me the picture of her that day was painfully personal. Jenny, with her beautiful brown-and-white patches, reminded me of ‘Ralph’ a similar sized and patched (although Ralph was black and white) spaniel I had and adored as a boy. I had witnessed Ralph being run over by a car, something that has haunted me my entire life. Jenny’s face awakened something old and tender in me. Maybe another chance.

Mex-Can Pet Partners put us through their thorough vetting process. They met our whole family: Kelly, her daughters Courtney and Katelyn, her father Doug, and her sister Cathy. Marlene inspected our home and our yard. She wanted to make sure any dog they rescued would never again know danger, instability, or abandonment. We passed every stage.

Then came the photos and videos. Jenny in the compound. Jenny with volunteers. Jenny during transport. The rescue community is an extraordinary one. These dogs were driven from Mexico to the U.S. border, then up through several western states until they reached Bellingham, Washington, where they were flown to Victoria… all through volunteer networks. It restored our faith in people.

Jenny was set to arrive in Victoria on December 17. She’d stay at Marlene’s home for a couple of days for observation. We could pick her up on the 19th. And we counted the minutes.

Meeting Jenny

On December 19th, Kelly, Courtney, and I drove to Victoria buzzing with anticipation. Jenny was there with several other dogs waiting to be claimed. She was the most beautiful of them all: sweet, shy, cautious… yet curious. She walked straight up to Courtney and gazed into her eyes. Jenny had the most beautiful and soulful eyes. Courtney cried.

Jenny wasn’t scared of the other dogs, exactly, but she preferred humans. That would remain true for the rest of her life. She was “a people dog,” through and through.

We brought her home that day. She curled up in Kelly’s lap on the ride back and stared into her eyes, as if memorizing her face. She hugged us, melted into us. We were instantly, hopelessly in love.

Her First Christmas – and Her First Challenges

Because we adopted her on December 19th, Jenny spent her first Christmas with us immediately. She received toys and treats, but quickly made it known that toys weren’t her thing. Squeaky toys, however, she loved destroying, so those were quickly confiscated for safety reasons.

We soon discovered she had kennel cough from her long journey. It was terrible for her tiny frame – like watching a child cough uncontrollably. Two weeks of medication finally cleared it.

Then came her lifelong stomach issues. Jenny had a huge appetite but reacted poorly to nearly every protein we tried. Chicken? No. Beef? No. Fish? No. Nothing worked. Finally the vet recommended Hill’s z/d hydrolyzed hypoallergenic food: expensive, but Jenny adored it, and it gave her comfort. She never once got bored of it. Mealtime was her joy.

She had also developed small scab-like marks on her lower back that puzzled the vets, but after about six months they simply vanished. They were a ‘mystery something’ that she had brought with her from Mexico

Her diarrhea episodes were frequent and unpredictable, and she required medication (three to four pills per week) for life. She handled it with patience and stoicism. She was tougher than she looked.

Learning to Feel Safe

For the first six to nine months, Jenny adored everyone who came to the house. But if a door opened, she would try to escape. Trauma has a long half-life. We kept her leashed for safety and searched for fully fenced dog parks where she could feel the freedom of being off-leash without risking running into traffic.

But she wasn’t a fan of other dogs, especially big ones. She wanted people, not playmates. Her quiet, gentle nature made her an observer rather than a joiner.

Eventually, she realized our home was her home. And when that shift happened, she became its protector. Postal workers, delivery drivers, squirrels, neighbourhood cats: they all got an earful from Jenny. Her bark was small and extremely cute but mighty.

The Run That Made Us Cry

There was something else: Jenny didn’t run. Ever. She walked, or (on a wild day), she fast-walked.

Then, one afternoon nearly two years after we adopted her, something changed.

We were at a fenced ballpark with no other dogs or people around, and let her off leash. Kelly wandered some distance away while Jenny wasn’t paying attention. When she finally noticed, Kelly called her.

Jenny started her usual fast walk… then suddenly broke into a full run.

A real run.

It was awkward, beautiful, confused, joyful and all at once. Kelly and I laughed and cried watching her, realizing she was discovering a new piece of herself in real time.

From then on, if one of us came home and the car was safely parked, we’d open the door and say, “Run to see Mommy!” or “Run to see Daddy!” or “Run to see Courtney!”And she would. So happy. So free.

Those moments became daily highlights – small miracles disguised as ordinary homecomings.

Jenny had a natural talent – one that Courtney discovered and revelled in. She was effortlessly photogenic. The photos we have of her (thanks to Courtney’s beautiful eye and gentle patience) are truly stunning. It’s hard to find a bad picture of Jenny. She was simply radiant, inside and out, and that translated into every image.

On nearly every walk, we were stopped by strangers:

“Oh my… what a beautiful dog!”

People were often stunned to learn she was a rescue from Mexico. She certainly didn’t look like the sort of dog most people imagine when they picture a Mexican street rescue.

Because of how often we were asked, and out of pure curiosity, Kelly and I bought each other an Embark DNA test for Christmas in 2022. We swabbed her cheek and waited. When the results came in, we weren’t surprised: just charmed:

Jenny was

70.1% Cocker Spaniel,

15.1% English Cocker Spaniel,

and 14.8% “Super Mutt,” which is Embark’s adorable way of saying “mystery magic.”

Her beauty clearly had a lineage behind it.

I also discovered early on that Jenny could sing. Truly sing. At first, we would do duets together, and later she became a solo act – especially when Courtney would hit just the perfect dissonant chord on the piano. That sound sent Jenny into joyful, heartfelt howling. We would join her, howling like a happy little pack. It made her glow. It made us glow. There was nothing but pure joy in those moments.

Courtney adored Jenny, and the feeling was entirely mutual. While Kelly and I would generally take Jenny for strolls along the Galloping Goose Trail behind our house, Courtney would take her on scenic “adventures” – drives to places with long trails and beautiful scenery: Langford Lake, Tower Point, Goldstream Park, Royal Roads University, and the Esquimalt Lagoon. Most of these outings doubled as photoshoots. I doubt any dog on Earth has been photographed more than Jenny. Those two together were a match made in doggie heaven.

As the years went on, Jenny began to age more quickly. The birds she once loved to chase eventually blended into the sky. The squirrels she once considered sworn enemies seemed to disappear from her vision entirely. And when a cat walked across our path one day (no more than twenty feet away) and she didn’t notice, I felt something sink inside me. Her hearing began to fade next, and we found ourselves clapping loudly to catch her attention. Sometimes she’d walk in the opposite direction, following the sound’s reflection off the wall instead of the source.

Watching my “Little Baby Girl Dog” (a nickname I gave her the very first day) grow old was heartbreaking.

Jenny had her share of medical issues, as many spaniels do. Ear infections were a recurring battle. One was so severe she couldn’t stand properly from the pain and vertigo. Spear grass, a plant every island dog owner fears, also became a repeat enemy. Once a piece lodged so deeply in her ear canal she needed surgery to remove it. We heard much worse stories from other dog owners… that weed is truly awful.

And then there were the digestive issues. The medications. The special diet. The endless vet appointments. One day, about six months ago, I gathered our bills to get a sense of what her care had cost us. Not including her expensive food, treats, or special supplements, the total was astronomical. I remembered, from many years ago, once thinking pet owners were silly for spending so much on animals.

Today, I stand humbled – chanting my mea culpas – knowing I would have spent anything, anything, for our little girl. And I gladly did.

Over the past few months, Jenny began tiring of her food. We tried everything…carefully, gently – to tempt her appetite. But she grew more sick, more ill. And on November 30th, 2025, the vet gave us news that shattered us: Jenny was in liver failure. There was nothing that could be done.

We arranged for her to pass peacefully at home at 11:00 am on December 1st, 2025.

Our sweet little girl.

We’ve always suspected her life before us was tragic. It was clear (to me) that she had been used for breeding – many litters, perhaps too many litters, and when she was finally too old to produce puppies, someone tossed her out onto the streets of Guanajuato where the city ordinance would take care of her. When we adopted Jenny, Mex-Can estimated in 2020 that she was about eight years old. That would put her between twelve and thirteen now.

We did everything we could for her. And I truly believe without hesitation that no dog has ever been loved more than Jenny. Our world revolved around her. And we were happy for it to revolve around her.

We will miss her for the rest of our lives. Her gentle soulful eyes. Her soft little howls. Her stubborn streak. Her warmth. Her presence. Her sweetness.

But most of all…
We will miss the way she made our home feel like home.

Jenny, our beloved Jennifer LoPaws
Thank you for choosing us.
Thank you for letting us be your family.
We will carry you in our hearts forever.