In Memoriam: Lily Elizabeth Williams (c. 2008 – April 21, 2025)

Lily was the beginning. The first rescue, the first heartbeat that started it all, even before Robin’s Nest had a name, and the soul of what would become a sanctuary for so many. Kimber met her in 2010 at the San Diego Humane Society — a young Chihuahua mix who had already known the hardship of motherhood too soon. It was clear she had recently given birth, though her puppies were gone.

 That quiet loss became her secret, carried silently but lived out in the way she poured her heart into caring for everyone who came after. From that moment on, Lily became not only Kimber’s steadfast companion, but also the spark that started it all.

Known affectionately as the Matriarch, Lily carried herself with dignity and purpose. She was the original greeter, caretaker, and center of the pack. Larger in spirit (and in size) than her brothers Alberto and Julio, she lovingly kept them in line, groomed them, and guided them with a maternal devotion that never wavered. Together they were legendary: The Three Chimigos. And she lead the pack that, together every day, cared for Nana in so many ways. 

Lily was a communicator, her gaze and expressions speaking volumes. Kimber could read her eyes as though they were a language all their own — every wish, every insistence, every bit of wisdom. She was also deeply social, forming bonds that endured across time and distance, and always reminding us when someone she loved was missing.

When her brothers passed before her, Lily grieved in a way that reminded us just how deep her heart ran. She called for them on the deck, lifting her voice into the distance as though she could still reach them. And perhaps she did. Because Lily always saw more than the rest of us. And we feel her presence still — watching, waiting, loving from beyond.

Though she was the oldest, she held on and was the last to go. Her passing was sudden and unexpected, and Kimber was with her at the very end — a tender moment that remains both a gift and a lifelong reminder of how hard each departure truly is.

Through nearly two decades of life, surgeries, medications, triumphs, and loss, Lily remained our constant — resilient, tender, insistent, and fiercely loving. She was not just the matriarch of The Three Chimigos; she was the heart of Robin’s Nest itself.

To say goodbye to Lily is to close the first chapter of our story. But her spirit, her loyalty, and her love remain the foundation upon which everything here is built. She was, and is, a strong force. We will carry her forward, always.

Ode to Lily: I hope you know…

When it seems the light has gone

Words fail us, and we stumble,

Thoughts focus only on the end.

Brought to our knees, we are humbled

And all the wishing begins.

Oh Lily, our little girl, I hope you know.

You came to us fully grown,

An unknown story never told.

We all bonded and loved together

Just as a real family should.

And then we began to grow.

Lily, our big girl, you taught us all.

One by one, your brothers came,

And at last we felt complete.

As time comes and goes

You became tighter than thieves,

Creating the stupendous Three Chimigos.

Lily, the matriarch, you were the best.

You were the first to come

And the last to leave.

Bookends to the great legend,

You taught us to receive,

And that the end is the beginning.

Lily, always my precious girl girl. 

Beyond the rainbow’s bridge

I see you watching and waiting,

Basking in the heavenly sun.

Pausing, always checking

On all of us at once.

Oh Lily, you have such power.

Little velvet flower, I hope you know 

The measure of your presence,

The examples you showed,

The strength you gave us.

How deeply you are loved. 

Still. 

Our Lily, our love, our everything.

I hope you know.   

Daisy, you have big shoes to fill, girl!  

- Dr. Sue Original, September 21, 2025

Grieving the Loss of a Beloved Companion

With the loss of these precious, innocent and giving souls, we’ve come to understand more deeply the reality of disenfranchised grief — the kind that comes from losing an animal companion but isn’t often recognized or supported by society.

When a pet passes, there are no casseroles. No days off work. No flowers or formal condolences. Yet for many of us, that loss is profound — and lasting.

If you’ve experienced this kind of grief, please know: you’re not alone. We’re developing a support program to honor these quiet but deeply felt losses. Whether you're seeking someone to talk to, a way to memorialize your pet, or simply want to be heard — we’re here.

We are all just walking each other home. — Ram Dass