But, when Franco joined us in early January 2012, and he and I spent those first, quiet weeks together with winter out our windows, I guess I cracked a little. The contrast between the warmth of that time and the chilly weather is close to my heart. I finally have happy memories of winter onto which to hold.
But, as with everything melodramatic in the world, the light of new life is tinged always with the threat of death. Two weeks ago, in the midst of a brutally cold, snowy week in the mountains, we bid farewell to our Gracie.
Last summer, her kidneys started to fail. And we successfully managed it with special food, fluids, and tender loving care -- until a few weeks ago, when she seemingly overnight went downhill. Those last days saw our lively little lady barely able to move, let alone eat or drink. And, really, a Beagle who does not eat is no Beagle at all.
It is hard not to dwell on the sadness. We thankfully still have our Emma, but the energy in the house is changed forever. I miss that Gracie, some moments more than others. To quote Franco's absolute favorite movie, Because of Winn-Dixie, she was "a dog who knew how to be a friend." For true.
Ironically, the night before Gracie's end, as she curled sadly, sickly, at our feet, Franco and I happened on a different kind of favorite: Beasts of the Southern Wild. (Which...Scotty P. promptly put an end to, crying something about "inappropriate for a 2-year-old." He's probably right. I am far too hippie-dippie when it comes to movie content to always make the correct calls. I blame the cold PA upbringing. Although, after his tears at being made to stop the film, Franco did come away with this astute critique: "That kid doesn't have any pants." Quite right.)
And from that moment on, an opposite quote lodged itself in my head, refusing to relent:
"No time to sit around crying like a bunch of pussies."
Also, quite right. Life is short for all of us -- painfully so for dogs. For poor Gracie, at only 7 1/2 years, she should have had more time. But time is not guaranteed for anyone, even a spoiled Beagle. We had better get up and live because it all ends in the end. Which may be sooner than we think.
I am very glad that I doted so much on Gracie all the years she lived here. I am glad that she snuggled in the bed with me, that I babied her eccentricities and fancied her every whim. Had I known how short our time together would be, I may have been even more ridiculous.
I want very much to focus on her life, not her death. I want to remember the laughter and fun. She rolled in raccoon poop at the cabin and had to get a bath in the river. (Traumatic for her, hilarious for us.) She outran ol' Scotty P. in a foot race in the wet grass and he bit it on a broken flip-flop, going down in a pile of obscenities as she sprinted on in glee. She would snatch a carrot out of your hand in a blur of drool and snarl so quickly, you might think her possessed. You could rile her so easily, and she got LOUD. Like the rest of us. She loved cuddles, warm fires, endless food, treats, rows with Emma, blankets, randomly chewing non-dog toys, stealing your seat, and poopsicles. All in all, for a small-brained shelter dog who probably had PTSD and a generalized anxiety disorder, she had everything you would want in a pet.
So, we will not sit around crying like a bunch of…you know. We will focus on the love we all felt. Gracie's remains sit on our mantle now, right above that warm fire she loved so much on cold wintry nights, much like the one on which she died. We saved her and she saved us.
Good-bye Gracie Juliet Stark Poling, May 2006 - January 29, 2014. We will never forget you.
