Leia
July 2016-December 2024
They said I should try for a girl after three boys, but instead, I got a puppy.
The thought had been swirling around my mind for quite some time. I would jokingly tell my husband, "I think it’s time for a dog now." Still, he evidently didn’t take me seriously. So, when I brought home Leia—a puppy rescued from a local shelter, rejected by a breeder who didn’t think she and her litter had made the cut—I was met with a less-than-thrilled reaction. At the time, we had a three-year-old toddler, and five- and seven-year-old children. Our house was utter chaos, but I remember distinctly something seeping through the noise: a longing for something small and defenseless to take care of. Maybe I did want another baby, but at the time, I was determined to show the world that I wasn’t just a mother. Little did I know, being a dog mother would prove just as demanding as being a child’s mother.
The main motivation behind my sudden desire for a puppy was my middle child, Gabriel, who was terrified of dogs. If any dog came close, he would scream. We lived in a dog-friendly community where nearly every family had one, many of them rescued from local shelters. I made it my mission to fix this, because, in my heart, I knew that you can’t go through life being afraid of dogs—or any animal, for that matter. I was right. Once we got Leia, Gabriel's fear vanished, and now he happily pets any dog he encounters.
We were prepared. We bought a crate for potty training, a striped pink-and-white bed, and a pink leash. I was waiting for my "girl" to arrive. At the time, we were deep into our first Star Wars obsession, so after briefly considering more "appropriate" dog names, we settled on Leia—after Princess Leia, of course. From the moment she stormed into our lives like the tornado she was, it was clear that Leia was no ordinary dog. Incredibly clever, she immediately grasped potty training. Mischievous, fearless, and adventurous, she quickly established herself as a force to be reckoned with.
I had envisioned lovely, brisk walks with her on a leash, but I soon learned that, as a Shar-Pei, Leia had a strong hunting instinct. She had no patience for my slow-paced demeanor and would pull on the leash or dart off the moment the gate opened. We lived near a portion of Hong Kong’s country park, an area populated by wild boars, cobras, and other threats. But Leia never once hesitated in the face of danger. She hunted wild boars when she was half their size and was always fiercely protective of us and her territory.
Despite her rebellious nature, we all fell in love with her. Our relationship was, however, always a bit conflicted. She was a "difficult" dog—demanding and a true "instigator of chaos," as her first trainer and our friend Clare affectionately called her. She was completely allergic to leashes and other restraints. A proper princess when it came to food and potty business, Leia would sometimes spend half an hour searching for the perfect spot to pee or poo—often away from prying eyes. She was my rebel child—the dog who came to challenge the very idea I had of dogs. Through her, I learned that you don’t actually "own" a dog or any other being.
When we went on outings, I hesitated to let her off-leash for fear she wouldn’t listen or come back. But she would look at me as if to say, "Come on, what are you so scared of? The world is fun! Let’s go!" Always busy, always on the go, excited by the world and all its possibilities, Leia reflected back to me a side of myself I didn’t always know I had. Perhaps that’s why I sometimes found her insatiable thirst for freedom and adventure triggering. I often felt I wasn’t the right owner for her, as our energies didn’t always match. But when she’d curl up beside me, asking for cuddles, I knew she was capable of such tenderness and care.
I recently read an article suggesting that dogs—especially female dogs—are capable of judging their owners negatively. I can certainly recall moments when Leia may have internally rolled her eyes or looked at me in disapproval, especially when I couldn’t find the time to play or was too tired to take her out. Yet, she also saw me through difficult times—moments of grief and loneliness. She sensed my sadness, my tiredness, and would lie quietly with me. Together, in silence, we found comfort. To feel her presence beside me anchored me to my life in ways I’ll always cherish.
Of course, she was also the protagonist of many joyful moments. In her own peculiar way, Leia was the most loyal of dogs. She always came back, even after disappearing for hours. I remember one time, when she bolted away during a hike in Hong Kong, more than half an hour from home. We were frantic, starting a rescue mission on Facebook, only to find her at our front door a few hours later. She had sniffed her way back to us.
Leia was the bridge to our past in Hong Kong, and saying goodbye to her felt like saying goodbye to many of the memories we had there. When, after four months of waiting due to COVID, she finally arrived in Portugal with her sister on a November evening, she was trembling with fear. But the moment she saw us, she dove into her new life, recognizing us instantly. I still remember our first run on Guincho Beach. I often thought, watching my dogs chase each other, that this was what happiness looked like: a free run on an empty beach.
Some people say dogs are familiars—creatures sent to us for protection. Others believe they are here to teach us lessons. For me, witnessing the bond she shared with my children has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. Leia made our lives a little more complicated, but in return, she gave us so much. Mostly, she taught me not to take our pets for granted. We shouldn’t let their presence fade into the background of our lives. Just as we nurture our relationships with people, we should care for and nurture our relationships with our pets—acknowledge their presence, make time to play, and recognize the immense value they bring to our lives, beyond the hassles of ownership.
When we got our second dog, Rey—a much sweeter and more fearful dog with a weakness for food (especially cakes)—I sort of entrusted Leia with the role of the responsible elder sister. They made quite a funny pair, with Leia pulling Rey into her adventures, often barking in the night to warn us of Rey’s attempts at raiding the kitchen countertops.
Leia was special. I miss her deeply and will continue to miss her for a very long time. Through her illness, our bond grew even stronger. I saw how she completely trusted me—whether I was shoving pills down her throat or taking her to countless vet visits. Even when she hid behind me for comfort, she leaned on me, trusting that I was doing everything for her well-being.
Finally, she let me take the lead, and she surrendered.
She wagged her tail until her very last moment when she peacefully fell asleep, crossing the rainbow bridge to a world filled with forests to explore, animals to chase, and—of course—lots of pizza to eat.
Leia Beia, Leia Luna, Leolinda, Leialu’. Leia.