Sunday Gospel According to Gracie

The first sound I heard this morning was a long, sad, drawn-out sigh coming from my husband's side of the bed. And how could that be, given the fact that he is out of town for a few days. I peeked over there and what do I see? Gracie. Our border collie/black lab. She gave out another long, low, moaning, groaning sigh. She was resting her head on the edge of my husband's side of the mattress, while the rest of her was standing up next to the bed.

Her pitifully sad sigh wasn't because she had to go out or because she was hungry. It was her sigh that says "What have you done with my daddy and why isn't he here where he's supposed to be?" I know that sound well because I hear it at least once a day, whether my husband is out of the house at work or out of town on business.

Ah, me.... I am no substitute for my husband where Gracie is concerned. She is his dog, through and through, from the tips of her ears to the wag of her tail. I am the one who orders the premium-baked dog food from Flint River Ranch, and the one who makes sure there is always clean, cold water in her bowl. I made sure that Gracie has the best veterinarian in Clear Lake to maintain her health, and the best pet-sitter to take care of her when we're away. I take care of the details. But my husband is 'the hero.'

As I said.... I am no substitute for her 'daddy.' When my husband gets ready to take Gracie for a walk, he doesn't even have to call her. Somehow, she knows the very second that he goes into the utility room for his cap and the plastic poop-bags. Before he can get to the door, Gracie is walking in circles all around him and raising her front paws as if she's dancing. If you look at her open-mouthed smiling face, she seems to be screaming: "Yes! Walking with daddy! To the park!! Yes!! I'm going walking to the park with daddy!!"

Now compare that to when I'm getting set to walk her-- I call her once, twice, sometimes three times. I stand at the door and jiggle the leash so the little metal clip makes a clicking-sound to get her attention. Slowly, slowly, she walks to the door. She looks at me with her mouth closed tight. She seems to be saying: "Oh, it's only you. I suppose you want me to walk with you. Well, come on then, let's get this over with."

I don't take all of this personally, since I've known from the beginning that Gracie would be my husband's dog. I think we both realized that over eight years ago, even before we left the SPCA with that little black and white bundle of puppy-energy. Right from the second my husband and Gracie saw one another, it was doggy-love at first sight. Gracie came right over to him and wouldn't leave his side. He walked from one end of the SPCA yard to the other, and there followed Gracie, right at his heels. No doubt about it... that puppy was coming home with us. In Gracie's mind, she was going home with 'him,' and I was just there for the dog-food shopping.

Border collie and black lab. I was afraid that she'd grow into pony-size. Thankfully, her weight topped out at around 45 pounds. A big dog in my eyes, but small in comparison to my friend "A's" dog, who weighs over 100 pounds. Our Gracie standing next to "A's" Blackie is similar to the Taco Bell dog standing next to one of Siegfried & Roy's tigers.

It was a hard first year with Gracie when she was a puppy. She had more energy than I was used to in a puppy. City-girl that I was (and still am, for the most part)... I was used to fluffy little dogs weighing less than 18 pounds, who only wanted to be cuddled in my lap and didn't want to walk in the rain. As opposed to Gracie, who wanted to run after tennis balls and frisbees, and loved splashing her way through deep puddles when it rained. On more than one evening, my husband came home from work to hear me tell him that "This dog is just not going to work out! I can't control her, can't handle her, can't pick her up, can't keep up with her!"

What to do... what to do. As the saying goes-- there are no stupid dogs, only stupid owners who haven't yet learned how to train their dogs. So off we went to puppy-training class. By "we," I meant Gracie and myself, because I was the one who couldn't handle her. She was just fine with her 'hero.' Two or three times a week we went... to a very patient trainer who showed me everything I was doing wrong with that poor puppy. I could've sworn back then that Gracie would look up at me during a training class and say "See?! This is how it's done."

The result... we have a wonderfully intelligent, well-behaved dog. Who, right now, thinks I'm the most cruel person in the world because she is convinced that it's my fault that her 'daddy' isn't in this house. To make her more confused, his car is right outside and she can see it from the window in the TV room. When she walks by that window and sees his car, she runs to the front door expecting him to come up the walkway. "Not yet, Gracie." She gives me her close-mouthed, serious look when she hears me say that.

Right this very second, Gracie is in the foyer, looking out at the front walkway through the glass panels of the front door. She has been there for most of the days that my husband has been out of town. And she will be there until finally, finally, she sees him walking up towards the front door and everything will once again be perfect in her little doggy-world.