It was hot. I mean really hot. Allison and I got out of the car to walk into the Humane Society and the sun could have burned a hole in your head, especially if you're bald like me. The triple digit heat wave made the inside that place stink like all the worst parts of a dog. The barking was insufferable, you couldn't even hear your head roar. We were in a pressure cooker filled with dogs.
We walked up and down the rows of pens looking for the yellow girl we found online. We took a right on the second aisle, and there she was. Sitting silently, mashing herself up against the chain link door like she was trying to escape through osmosis.
Her legs were a little too short, and her body a little too long, and her skin a little too loose. She was the perfect dog for us. Grabbing a leash, Allison and I walked her outside into the yard and over to a picnic table, she climbed up on top and I began to look her over. After a brief physical and a few pats on the head she took a deep breath in and sneezed as hard as she possibly could all over me. She still does that occasionally. We returned her to her pen and the decision was made (mostly by me) that this was the dog for us.
As we were filling out the paper work, the lady behind the desk said that the owner just couldn't care for her any more, so he brought her in, and from what she knew she stayed locked up on the porch most of the time. It was pitiful.
We decided to come back to get her in a couple of days so we could prepare for her arrival into our home. Before we left I went back to her pen where she sat, attempting osmosis still, and knelt down and told her we were coming back. She looked up at me with here best basset eyes and it was almost like she understood.
And then on August 14th 2007, she came home. Given her new found freedom and home, we decided to name her Gracie.
The first night in our home we put her in her kennel to sleep and she whimpered and whined for a few minutes, and as I lay in bed my stomach boiled with anxiety. I put my pillow over my head and asked Allison "What did we do?!?!". I awoke the next morning and realized that the peaceful moments before I headed off early to the gym were now a flurry of confusion and dog wrangling to get her out the door and into the backyard. Our lives had been changed for the worse and the first few days were awful.
Slowly, however, we grew to love the old pup, slobber, barking, pestering and all. Now I can't imagine life without her. She's our buddy.
One time, on an early Saturday morning walk, we walked down by the Opelika tennis center. I wanted to go one way, she wanted to go another, and in a stubborn fit she backed out of her collar and ran down the hill, through waves of kudzu and out of sight. I took the long way around, down the steps, and over by some tennis courts attempting to follow her. When I reached the bottom I asked two ladies playing tennis "did you see a yellow dog run through here?", "She ran back up the hill" one lady replied. I went back to the top of the hill. No Gracie in sight. I called her and searched for the next few minutes with no success. I called Allison on the cell phone and told her to come get me so the search could continue. Allison got her keys opened the carport door, and there sat Gracie. She looked up at Allison with a concerned distraught face as if to say "I've lost your husband". When she couldn't find me, she just ran home. That's what abandonment will do, even to a dog.
One more story and I'm done. Some friends and I have a Accountability group that meets on Monday night. Allison, on one particular night, had prepared some brownies and had set them on the coffee table for us to enjoy. There were probably a dozen or so left on the plate when everyone had left. Allison had holed up in our bedroom so I let Gracie in and then went to retrieve Allison from hiding. After a few moments of talking with her, it hit me... the brownies... We walked into the living room to find Gracie licking the brownie plate clean, and I spent the next hour researching how much chocolate it took to kill a dog... alot, it turns out.
When I come home from work she usually greets me at the door wagging her whole body. It can be the perfect medicine for a hard day. I never would have fancied myself a dog person, but I am. And I think I'm better for it.
So there you go, on August 14th of this year we did it up right. Allison bought a small cake and some party hats. And we posed for a few pictures with my old friend, Gracie Boman. Don't worry, she only had a little cake... well, ok, a good bit of cake.
Happy Gotcha Day old pup.
zac
