Dog days... part 1

Typically, I'm not one to just write for the hell of it. In fact, I typically don't write at all unless I'm songwriting. Haven't been doing much of that lately but that is another story. Today feels different though. Maybe it's because I didn't sleep very well and am just tired and a little pensive. Maybe it's because I just need to get this off my chest because it's been weighing on me.

I have a dog named Gracie, and I love her to pieces. Having grown up with cats, it was never my intention to get a dog. They love me though, and I'm good with them, but I never wanted the responsibility of owning one.

I adopted Gracie in October 2003 after her owner, who was my most recent ex at the time, committed suicide. We weren't together at the time of her death, but it didn't make the sting of it any less painful. She was the kind of person who truly didn't want to put her depression and suffering on anyone else. When she decided that she could kick neither her depression nor the alcoholism that caused it (or vice versa), she chose her own fate with some pills and a bottle of vodka.

Unfortunately, she left behind 2 cats in addition to Gracie. One of the cats, Bear, went (eventually) with me, while the other went to her sister. Why her sister didn't take both cats was beyond my comprehension but that's another rant. Gracie came to me after the Sheltie rescue she initially was taken to decided that she was too risky to adopt out to a new home and suggested that she be put down. Well, I decided that was going to happen only over my dead body, and since I had no intention of "getting dead" anytime soon, that I'd have to adopt her.

That started a whole new period in my life. I was a new dog owner living in a 3rd floor, one bedroom apartment in Somerville, MA. I had to move, since the landlord didn't want to set the precedent of allowing dogs in his apartments. Cats yes, dogs no. OK. So, I started the process of looking for a condo.

Let me backtrack to the beginning of 2003... the company I had been working for had recently "merged" with another, and we knew that as soon as the "merger" was approved, that we'd start layoffs. Starting in mid-February, the chopping began.

In April that year, I started dating Gracie's former mom.

I kept my job until late May, and then had major surgery in early June. The surgery was more extensive than they initially thought it would be, and I ended up in the hospital for 4 days. Then I went to my ex's house to recover there because she was on the first floor and I wouldn't have to do stairs. After she took me home, I didn't see her for about 2 weeks. I think she was on a drinking binge. I didn't much care because I was in pain and mostly just tired and trying to get my strength back. Going up and down 3 flights of steps once per day was all I could manage for a week, and I wasn't allowed to drive until 3 weeks after the surgery. I'm getting off-track...

By mid-July I realized that my ex had a major drinking problem. By late July, we had broken up. Two days after the breakup, she was found barely conscious in her condo by one of her friends, who of course called 911. Her stomach was pumped and she was admitted to ICU. Then she was admitted to the psych ward for 2 weeks. I ended up taking a trip to Baltimore without her, one we had planned together to go and see the Red Sox play the Orioles at Camden Yards. Well, at least I had an empty seat next to me at the games!

We agreed that it was better for us to not see each other. She was in recovery, and needed to focus on healing herself. She was eventually released to an outpatient program. She came to see me at my house one day, it was in August, on my sister's birthday, just to drop off some money for me. Evidently, it was also for her to say goodbye. She brought Gracie with her, picked up a few things, gave me a check... kissed me very gently on the lips, told me she loved me, and that I should use my passport I had just gotten. Then she left, with Gracie. I crumbled to the floor, crying, knowing that I had seen her for the last time. I don't know how I knew, I just did, and it was a horrible feeling.

I got the call in mid-September, just several weeks later. It did not shock me, except that I had hoped the call would come much later than it did, like, years later. I met her friend at the condo, and gathered a few things that I still had there that I knew if I didn't get then, I'd never see them again. Later that night, I cried, and I didn't stop for months.

After several weeks of my ex's friend and I taking turns watching Gracie, she was taken to a Sheltie rescue league. They placed her in a home with a very bizarre woman who had 3 other shelties, one of whom she had debarked, which I find appalling, but that's another story. I have lots of stories.

Poor Gracie cowered in the corner for most of the time she was there, thankfully only a couple of days. Gracie is a one person dog who needs a lot of one-on-one. She doesn't do well around other dogs either, mainly just ignores them but can get snappy if one is aggressive or playful with her. I suppose she was just not properly socialized, but that's what they had to work with, and I let them know all of this before she was taken there.

However, when the foster mom tried to pet Gracie, Gracie tried to bite her. The foster mom decided that it was too risky to try to adopt her out to a new home, given that Gracie is a fear biter, and suggested that we come get her or she might have to be put down. This happened on the Thursday of the same week I started new job in Cambridge, MA - first full week of October, 2003. On that Friday night, I picked her up from the foster home. When Gracie heard me calling her, she came running over to me (trailing her leash behind her by the way), barking, rubbing up against me, wanting me to pet her..... the foster mom was stunned, and said that she hadn't seen Gracie that happy. Many things ran through my mind but I kept my mouth shut for the most part, put her in the back of the car, and took her home.

A couple of days after my ex died, I had also broken my hand while I was playing soccer. I used to be a goalie, and got my hand caught in the turf while making a save and... SNAP! Ouch... but it was the beginning of my singer/songwriter career as I used guitar playing as physical therapy. I had played in bands while I was living in Philly, but pretty much gave it up. Getting back to playing the guitar healed my hand, and helped me on the road to healing my heart as well.

Part 2 later...