On dogs

Our dog died last weekend. I won’t disclaim my feelings by saying something like, “Oh, I know, she was just a dog” because loss is loss and losing a pet sucks.

We got Gracie in 2016 when my daughter was eleven, and it was the start of some hard years for her. Puberty, middle school, shifting friendships—there were lots of hard, deep feelings and dark days. I’m leaving many things out of my summary of these years (and I have my daughter’s permission to say this much) because they are not mine to write about but trust me, they were rough.

Through it all was Gracie, a happy, bouncy ball of fluff. There were times Gracie was the only thing that got my girl up in the morning and the hope of seeing her was the only thing that got her through the day. When Gracie got sick two months ago right before my daughter’s eighteenth birthday, I had this feeling that maybe she knew my daughter was okay so she could go. But I know it doesn’t work that way. Anyway.

Here’s another thing to know about Gracie: she required a ridiculous amount of fur maintenance. The only other dog we’d ever had was a mutt who needed two baths a year so for the first six months of Gracie’s life, we did nothing about her hair so she got completely ratty and matted.

before

We finally brought her to the groomer, and they were horrified. They told me they would have to shave her. When they were done, she looked awful, like a skeleton wearing a winter hat. I called Ken and told him to prepare the kids, but I don’t think I communicated how bad it was because when I brought Gracie home, everyone collapsed into floods of tears. Then we called the groomer and yelled at them even though it was totally our fault (sorry guys). We ran out and bought her a coat, which somehow made her look worse. There are very few pictures of Gracie from that time because it hurt to look at her, but here is one, taken a week after the haircut:

After that, we learned our lesson and began to structure our lives around Gracie’s fur. I am a 50-year-old woman and I spent far more on Gracie’s hair than I spend on my own (far more). Each month, we handed over our money to the ladies at the Pet Spa in Port Chester, N.Y. and in exchange, they returned Gracie all perfumed and poofy and wearing a seasonal bandana and sometimes a bow right on top of her head, which we always took out because that was silly. The whole thing was silly, but you know what? It made us so happy every time she came home looking like spun sugar and smelling like a Sephora. Even when she was sick, I took her to the Pet Spa so she could retain her glamour and they treated her like a goddamn queen.

St. Patrick’s Day

Halloween

Gracie had extremely expressive hair. I wish I could change my look as dramatically with a haircut:

long ears

short ears

What else can I say about Gracie? She was a dog who did dog things. She chased squirrels. She barked at the doorbell. If stealing socks was a crime, she’d be serving a life sentence. She loved treats and squeaky toys and rolling in gross stuff out in the yard. We loved her.

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