Tuesday, October 8, 2013

I Was Lost, I Am Found


It's been a while. Sorry about that.

And sorry in advance that this won't be the entry I promised last time. That one's coming, but I'm in a rather different mood in writing this and needed to go in a different route of sorts. I looked for the best toy to write about this time, and found this little guy.

This little guy doesn't have a name.

It was ages ago I found him. Back when my church (that my dad is the pastor of) was in the process of constructing a new building, my dad and I were visiting the premises while it was under construction, and happened to find him lying around. He had an orange string tied around him, and we had absolutely no idea whose he was or where he came from. So, naturally, I took him home. Once in the safety of my room, Sam took him into the loft to care for him and give him a place of rest (this is actually the toy that prompted Sam to turn his former pad into a haven for new toys to find shelter and rest). To this day the little guy rests quietly on Sam's leg, draped contently, but always with that seemingly mournful look in his eyes.

We got word a few weeks ago that one of our dogs (we have two) had contracted a mammary tumor, with an estimated two months left. Surgery was an option- if successful she'd have up to two years left, but given that she's already 13, we decided it would be best not to put her through that. In the past week it's been getting progressively worse and worse. She won't eat, has a hard time getting through the pet door, and even has issues just walking sometimes. I'm writing this on a Thursday night. We were hoping she would last through the weekend, but even that's looking suspect. By the time this publishes next Tuesday, she will have in all likelihood passed on.


I remember when we first got her. She was the first pet we purchased as a family- we had two dogs before (Gypsy and Scout, the former who had passed on by then), but both had been around before I was born, and our cat Tigger was more thrust upon us by a neighbor than actually purchased. Towards the end of Scout's life, we began scouring through the local Humane Societies and Pet-Co's looking for a second dog. After a lot of searching, we stumbled upon a timid female Australian Shepherd. She had been found in a field somewhere, covered in ticks, and it was discovered she had been beaten by a former owner and had either escaped or was thrown out.

Though she was enormously timid and hesitant around us, she seemed to warm immediately to my mother, and almost without a second thought we knew we had found our new dog. It took her a long while to adapt to our household- she was terrified of my dad (leading us to theorize that her past owners may have been an abusive husband and compassionate wife), and would dart away if you even raised any kind of long stick. But she was devoted to my mom, and would follow her anywhere she went. After some deliberation, we named her Gracie, because though she once was lost, she now was found.

I have so many memories of that dog. I remember how much she still had the Shepherd in her- when we later got Freckles, a white lab/collie mix, we would often go to the park and throw a frisbee around, and as Freckles ran out to fetch, Gracie would dart out to herd her back to the family. I remember how protective she was- she barked at any and all strangers that arrived at the house, and she would often bark at me were I to come out into the darkened living room in the middle of the night (as I often did in those days, and still do). I remember her stubbornness- how she always stayed outside to watch over the house without fail, even in the pouring rain or in our signature Phoenix summers. No worries if she did get a little warm, though- she could always dig a hole in my mother's garden. I remember how she used to jump on the couch during thunderstorms, or how she used to pester us to pet and scratch her- she had a favorite spot on her back. And I remember how she loved my mother- she followed her so much that she began to be called her shadow, with us joking that her theme song would be U2's "I Will Follow". Gracie treasured every walk, every chance to stand outside, every moment to be a part of that household. Through my mother she came to accept and trust each and every one of us, and truly became a part of our family. She was lost, and had finally been found.

"Amazing Grace" is, of course, a mainstay at funerals. Being a church pianist, I have naturally played at my share of funerals, and you know, it's funny how after all this time I don't think I've been nearly as emotional at any of those than right now with this dog. And I'm sure I'm not alone in that- it always seems as if people get more emotionally attached to their pets and animals than their fellow human beings. There's the old joke that if you kill off half the cast in a film your audience will be fine but you kill that puppy and they'll be sobbing in seconds. But why is that? Why do we place so much more affection on our pets than ourselves?

There's a host of possible, and equally valid reasons- pets represent a sort of innocence we often view as having lost, pets are seen as reliable and dependent where human beings are reckless and unstable, and they also have the advantage of being pretty danged adorable. But I think a major reason is that they tend to live such short lives- the average lifespan of a dog is something like 10-15 years. Chances are most people have seen more pets pass away than they have relatives, and I daresay most of us have been through that point where we see our beloved and faithful companion grow weaker and weaker as they near closer to death.

And it's hard. It's really hard. Gracie lately has a tendency to whine softly in the middle of the night, and on hearing her earlier I decided to go in the back room and keep her company for a bit. And to see her laying against the floor, in a position that seems to be made less for comfort and more for simply avoiding the pain, with matted fur on her underside wet from chewing and licking...to see this once attentive and watchful dog not even move as I pull a chair up next to her....and worse, to see this dog who was once, for those moments with us, actually happy and joyful not even react as I pet her and scratch that special place on her back...it's heartbreaking.

It's of course taking the worst toll on my mother, who has by now had to stop taking Gracie on her morning walks and no longer has a shadow following her where ever she may go. I daresay she even misses the holes in her garden. She's a very brave woman, my mother, so she hides this very well, but every day she comes home a little tense and a little downtrodden, asking where Gracie is. I can only imagine what my parents had to go through when Gypsy and later Scout had to be put down, and I fear the day when I will have to look upon one of my own loved ones the same way I looked at Gracie earlier tonight. It's something that terrifies me each day.

Perhaps that's one reason why I value my toys so much, and refuse to ever throw them out. Because as long as they're with me, they will never die. But it's not the toys themselves that truly matter. The bits of plastic and stuffing, that's not important. No, I think what matters it what lies inside- the memories, recollections, and histories lurking beneath, waiting to unfold. Those plastic or cotton shells are in the end about as important as our own shells of flesh and blood- it's the impossible breadth of history and knowledge emboited within us that makes us who we are and gives us reason to stand in this world and declare ourselves to be, in some fashion, alive.

And maybe we are all, in a way, born lost. Born into a fleeting and ever-changing world where it is too easy to become adrift and forgotten. And through our lives we ground ourselves in our ever-growing histories and stories until they come bursting out from us, to be endlessly told, retold, and revived. And through sharing those stories and facts- of a toy, a person, or a dog- we can postpone the strains of death. It is in that we become immortal. It is in that we become found.


I said earlier that this little guy didn't have a name. I think I found one.

This little guy's name is Gracie.

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