Stories Told

Good night, Gracie

I didn’t want her.

We already had two dogs and three cats, which I thought was more than enough pets. And I was concerned about bringing this stray dog into our home where our curious and active baby boy might accidentally provoke harm. But my wife’s boundless compassion for unwanted animals overruled better judgment. After a couple days of driving by the golden dog who hid in the bushes of a nearby Shell station, she stopped, coaxed her into the car, and brought her home.

Gracie

Purple-spotted tongue

The filthy dog was starved and had been beaten, presumably by whoever dumped her. My wife cleaned her up as best she could, and as she healed and gained weight she became quite beautiful. She had the size, color, and general markings of a Golden Retriever, but the thick fur and purple-spotted tongue of a Chow. My wife named her Gracie.

Thanks to the abuse she suffered, Gracie was highly anxious around us. She growled in fear every time I or my teenage stepson entered the room, which led us to believe that her abuser had been a man. Whenever the doorbell rang, you could hear abject fear in her barking. She tucked tail and ran every time somebody stood up near her. But she didn’t run from Sugar, our Rottweiler. Subtly and gently, Sugar befriended Gracie, and soon wherever you found Sugar, you found Gracie. Gracie remained high-strung and anxious, but Sugar’s friendship helped Gracie find security and let her slowly settle into her new home.

Gracie and Sugar

Gracie and Sugar

And so we went along for about five years, until my marriage fell apart. I moved out and hardly saw our dogs for a couple years. When I found myself unable to properly care for an especially difficult cat that my sons had given me, I asked my ex if she would take it, and she said yes – but only if I traded her for the dogs. And so Sugar and Gracie came to live with me.

Sugar died less than a year later. I’m just going to admit it: I wished it had been Gracie. Sugar was an outstanding dog – happy, smart, gentle, easygoing, and loyal. Gracie, on the other hand, was still anxious, needy, and demanding. She was also deeply attached to Sugar. When Gracie figured out that Sugar was never coming home, she fell apart. In her grief, she destroyed a great number of my possessions, including chewing a huge chunk out of a solid wood table. I never knew what destruction I would find when I came home from work. I was still recovering emotionally from my divorce, and I was pretty fragile. Coming home to find one more thing destroyed could unhinge me.

The veterinarian prescribed Prozac, and within a couple weeks Gracie calmed down. In parallel I built new routines with Gracie to help her find anew the security she lost when Sugar died.

And then, bit by bit, Gracie bonded to me. Hard. I’d never experienced a dog becoming so deeply devoted to me before. She became expert in reading my moods. She would quickly figure out my internal state and respond accordingly. When I was happy, she was energetic and eager to go for a walk or explore the front yard with me. When I was ill or depressed or angry, she would rub against me and lean into me and stay near my side.

One of my travel companions

On a road trip

Gracie became my devoted companion. When I’d sit in my office to write, she always curled up in the corner created by my two desks. She loved to be in the yard with me when I worked in it. And she loved to ride along on my road trips. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, as long as she was there, too, all was well in her world. And what a blessing it was to me. It took me a long time to recover after my destructive divorce, and except for the time I spent with my sons I mostly wanted to be left alone to heal. But the other side of that coin was loneliness, and Gracie gave me wonderful companionship and affection.

But she still had a damaged psyche and was a bottomless pit of need. No amount of attention satisfied her, and she remained at best skittish around, and at worst outright frightened of, people she didn’t know very well. Her constant demands could overwhelm me, especially when I needed to unplug after a tough day at work.

It didn’t help that I had to leave her home alone a lot – minimally nine hours a day, five days a week. It was very hard for Gracie. I gather that Chows were bred to spend all of their time working with and protecting their families, and are happiest when they are always surrounded by their people. Even though Gracie was only half Chow, she had this trait fully. To ease her separation anxiety, I developed some happy routines around my going and coming. But even when I was home, I had things to do. I couldn’t make enough time just for Gracie.

As a divorced man who lives alone, Gracie anchored me in both the positive and negative connotations of the word. She was always at home eagerly waiting for me, and she showed me plenty of devotion and affection, things that were in short supply in my life and so were deeply welcome. But she was also always at home eagerly waiting for me to come let her out and put kibble into her bowl – I could be away from home for only so long. Because of her emotional issues, I couldn’t board her or let anyone other than a close family member check on her at home. My sons and I have always began and ended our vacations in my hometown of South Bend because my parents were willing to care for Gracie. But South Bend is far enough away to be practical only when I would be gone for several days. Weekend trips with my sons and overnight business trips have been impossible because of Gracie.

Despite all Gracie gave to me, and despite how deeply I cared for her, I was ready not to have a dog.

And then Gracie lived for a very long time.

Gracie

Old and gray

Gracie came into my life fully grown 16 years ago. That’s mighty old for a dog that size, and predictably, a few years ago she began wearing out. First, her hearing faded. When it failed entirely, I worked out a set of gestures and hand signals to communicate with her. Meanwhile, her eyes went cloudy. Then when she and I drove the National Road across Ohio together in 2011 she struggled for the first time to jump into the back of my little hatchback. On what ended up being her last road trip, in 2012, I had to pick her up to put her in my car. She hated that. Soon even routine car trips became uncomfortable for her. And lately her stamina faded. When I’d take her for a walk, she often pooped out before we got home. More than once we finished the last block of a walk at a snail’s pace because she was spent.

Then this summer she began rapidly losing weight. An x-ray revealed a swollen liver; blood tests showed highly elevated liver and kidney numbers. “This is going to be the end of her,” the vet said. “But it’s really hard telling how long she will live. She’s so very old that I recommend you just keep her comfortable.” Antibiotics and steroids helped her feel better, and her weight increased.

My parents have both retired now and will move to Indianapolis soon. I hated to make Gracie spend more than two hours in the car this past Thursday, but I didn’t want to miss the last Thanksgiving in the house where I grew up. I knew something wasn’t right with Gracie on Thanksgiving morning when I picked her up to put her in the car – she cried a little from discomfort. Then she was unusually unsteady on her feet in the car. When I let her out of the car at my parents’ South Bend home, she seemed oddly disoriented. But shortly she settled in and seemed to be her usual old self. She was happy to see my parents’ dog and was constantly underfoot in the kitchen looking for a handout while Mom cooked. She happily ate the table scraps Dad gave her after dinner, and she gobbled down her kibble as usual.

But while I was drying dishes Dad came in and said, “Gracie is standing out in the hallway all hunched up. You need to come look after her.” She was clearly very uncomfortable. Her belly was hard and a little distended. I thought it might be constipation, which had troubled her in her old age. I tried a usual remedy, but she wouldn’t eat it. I tried letting her outside in hopes she’d relieve herself. She just stood uncomfortably in the yard, so I signaled her back in.

When she reached the back door, she fell. I lifted her up and she fell again. I lifted her into the house, and she stumbled into the kitchen and fell, legs splayed out. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and onto the floor. I knew it was bad.

While we tried to reach the emergency vet on the phone, Gracie slipped away.

Gracie and me

Gracie and me

I will probably always wish I could have better met Gracie’s considerable needs. But given where she came from, she was very fortunate and had a good life. And now I’m left with the conflicted feelings of having the dog-free life I’ve wanted for the past few years – and missing my friend and companion terribly, expecting to find her in the usual places around the house and wishing I could feel her lean into me one more time.

Good night, Gracie. I’m so glad you didn’t have to suffer long or hard, and that you died when you were ready. Rest well, my girl.

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28 thoughts on “Good night, Gracie

  1. anita lesher says:

    Wow! God always knows what you need, even if it’s a little early and you don’t realize you need it yet. I find it wonderful that she was there for you when you needed her the most and you for her. A wonderful piece Jim.

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  2. Lone Primate says:

    It’s been a little while since I’ve dropped in on you, Jim. What a day to swing by.

    I’m sorry you’ve lost Gracie. Truly, tearfully sorry. I know you’ve been steeling yourself for that for a long time but I also know it’s still hard when the moment actually arrives. Your conflicted feelings are understandable… I have a friend in New England who just went through pretty much the same thing with his cat; his devotion to her was part of his routine and daily road map. Companionship aside, he valued the structure but not so much the onus, and I think something like that’s going on for you.

    You have the right focus, I think: the times you shared and the life you gave her. That’s where the beauty of it lies. Truman Capote had a couple of lines that have always resonated with me: “The only unpardonable sin is deliberate cruelty,” and “We all, sometimes, leave each other out there under the skies, and we never understand why.” Where Gracie and her life are concerned, what you and your ex did was the answer to those charges. You made the world a better place and earned the reward that was the love and trust of a healed soul.

    At the end of the movie Harold and Maude, when Harold proclaims his love to the dying Maude, her last words to him are, “Oh, Harold, that’s wonderful. Go and love some more.”

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    • Thanks, LP. Because she was so old and her health was failing, I was not shocked when she died. And I feel very fortunate that she passed on her own without lots of expensive and drawn-out vet visits. But now I’m going through all the adjustments of life without her. There were a hundred ways I thought about her and accommodated her every day that I wasn’t entirely aware of until she wasn’t there anymore. It’s like having fingers and toes removed.

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  3. Thank you for sharing this heart-warming story, and I’m sorry for your loss. It helped me to read your words, as tomorrow, we will take our 16 1/2 year old cat, Nipper, to the vet for her final farewell. She has lost all her litter box functioning, so it is time. Tomorrow will be a hard day around here, but the timing of your story was a blessing.

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  4. Ward Fogelsanger says:

    I doubt I would be able to write anything close to this .. Our Maltese Yorkshire mix has a bladder tumor and we will have to put her down when she can no longer relieve herself. We have been running a doggie “hospice” since July I don’t know if she will make it to Christmas. I am an airline pilot by trade and I can assure you the happiest “people” to see me when I get home are our dogs.

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  5. You and Gracie well-met each others needs. Though she lived three or four years longer than one might expect for such a large dog, that knowledge does not make the loss any easier. Tears here, too, for your loss.

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    • Thanks, David. I am glad that I had time to prepare for this, thanks to her decline over the past few months. I knew the day would come. I never expected it would come on Thankgiving Day, though.

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  6. Jon campo says:

    Jim,
    This was a really heartfelt and poignant post. I really enjoy the honesty of your blog, I really don’t think too many people could write so honestly about their lives. Great photographs also. I gave my sometimes difficult rescue dog a little extra hug before leaving for work today. Thanks.
    Best regards,
    Jon Campo

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  7. You really plucked my heart strings with this one Jim. I can’t imagine the internal conflict this must be invoking for you. I just pray that you will dwell within the peace of Jesus as God sustains you once again.

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  8. Nancy (Roe) Stewart says:

    So sorry to hear about Gracie. Michael stopped to see your parents while he was home for the holiday and heard about what had happened. I was hopeing that you would write about her. Thanks for sharing with us.

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  9. My sincere condolences, Jim. Gracie lived a full life for a dog — she had her human, you had your canine companion. I have gone through that scenario with dogs twice, and I decided after the last time, that I could not adopt another dog. The bond is very strong, and it is so devastating for a while. We have had numerous cats, and have 3, one of which is definitely my cat. But the nice thing about cats is that they are more independent and do not look at you the way a dog does… as if they can see into your soul.

    Thanks for sharing your story, and it left me teary, and I know exactly how you feel. It is amazing how much empathy we can have for pets. And dogs seem to be very empathic in their own way, too.

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    • Thanks, Mark. I’ll have a dog again one day, no doubt about it. I go in knowing full well I’ll say goodbye one day and that I’ll grieve. This dog was different because I didn’t want it in the first place and then I ended up bonding to it so deeply. It’ll take me more time than usual to grieve this loss.

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