I found out that Gigi had cancer, a lymphoma, three months ago. She was only 9 years old. She was my service dog. I met her in Mexico during my two-year trip through Mexico–Guatemala–Belize in my truck. She followed me everywhere and protected me. I let her roam free at night. She was streetwise, always looked both ways before crossing. She was so deeply loved by so many people—it’s unbelievable. Even people who usually don’t like dogs fell in love with her. When I travel, people are happy to see Gigi again.
I learned about her cancer at the Petit Laurier veterinary hospital in Montreal on March 6, 2024. I was devastated. As soon as Dr. Habib gave me the news, I couldn’t imagine living without a dog. I felt like I would die inside. I knew I needed to get a puppy and do everything I could to keep Gigi alive for a few more months so she could pass on her magic.
We decided on a treatment that could extend her quality of life. The treatment was pretty expensive, and Dr. Habib generously only charged me for the medication—not for the many blood tests and appointments. It gave her four more months, when she would have had only 2–3 weeks max without it.
Two days after the diagnosis, I had already found a new puppy (thanks to my network of contacts). At first, during the first two weeks, she didn’t accept her very well—gave her a few little growls. But after Evelyne came to see Gigi, Mimi came and snuggled up against her, and she accepted her.
Gigi was addicted to cuddles and love. Before going to sleep, she had to go to every person to give them her paw and say goodnight—even if there were 50 people.
When I ended up with a machete to my throat in Mexico and she bit the guy’s ankle until he bled—thank you, Gigi, for defending me.
Last Saturday, she ran off. I thought she had gone off to die alone in the woods. I wanted her to live her last month in the countryside, in Témiscouata, with her dog friends—and to get out of Montreal with the puppy. That was good: now he walks off-leash, takes the metro, rides the bike, barely barks (except at skateboarders), has a great recall. It was time to show him cows.
When she came back, she had a nosebleed and seemed very tired. I was waiting on the last dose of her anti-cancer meds in the mail. I couldn’t stop thinking about the moment of her death, getting closer and closer. She was still walking, still responding, wagging her tail.
I had decided I didn’t want her to die under fluorescent lights in an office. And the closest mobile vet was 200 km away—$$$. We had to make the decision that she would be put down with a .22 bullet, which is the most ethical and painless method if you don’t have access to a vet (Dr. Habib was 700 km away). Not by me—I could never do that. But a hunter friend, who has had to do it for his own dogs, agreed to do it for me after administering a sedative.
Tuesday, June 3, 2025, she seemed weak enough that I started digging her grave next to her dog friend who died last year. When I finished digging, I couldn’t find her anymore. She reappeared 2–3 hours later, lying under a fir tree near her grave, with what looked like black fly “goggles” around her eyes—the poor thing couldn’t fight the flies off anymore. I brought her inside in my arms. Once inside, she came and lay on me, and Mimi came and lay down too, and licked Gigi’s nose. I knew it would be that night or the next morning.
Gigi went to lie down in the middle of the living room. The other dogs came to see her. I went to get the meds from the truck. I was so overwhelmed, crying so hard I could barely breathe. We were all gathered around her: me, Mia, François, and the five kids—Flore, Morgane, Aurore, Ivy, and Soliane...
I had to decide whether we would put her down that night or the next morning. Her saliva was thick, her tongue pale. (All this happened in less than two hours.) When she started bleeding from the nose again, I knew it was the end. I had to choose: tonight or tomorrow. I was sobbing. I went to take a shower to calm down and make the decision.
Ten minutes into my shower, I made the decision. I kept repeating to myself:
“Gigi, you have fulfilled your mission. You can go. You’ve passed on your dog wisdom to the puppy. You can go.”
Meanwhile, the kids were singing around Gigi with the other dogs: You Are My Sunshine, My Little Sunshine…
Then François came to see me and told me she had just vomited. Fuck. I wouldn’t be able to give her the meds—she’d just throw them up.
Five minutes later, he came back and said: “It’s happening.”
I jumped out of the shower in 5 seconds and arrived just in time to see her final breath/spasm. She died at 8:20 PM. She didn’t seem to suffer. She simply stopped breathing, and her heart stopped at the same time.
Mia placed candles around Gigi. We laid her on a blanket and carried her to her grave. Mia and the children picked flowers. I was so moved. I never would have thought to do all that on my own. I am so grateful.
Thank you, Gigi.
Thank you, my friends.
Thank you to everyone who loved Gigi.
