Walking a straight line in the kitchen.

The kitchen in our old house in Clear Lake was small. Adequate and efficient, but on the small side because of the attached breakfast room. I was so happy to see the kitchen in this house.... about four times the size of our other one, with such long counter-tops and even an island in the middle. Finally... a really big kitchen with more cabinets and more work-space than I'd hoped for. I was in heaven. Until Gracie claimed the kitchen as her favorite place to be in this house.

And her most-favorite place in the kitchen was two steps behind whatever part of the kitchen I happened to be working in. By the sink? She was right behind me. Mixing up cookie batter on the left side? Gracie was right there. Making salad on the island? Fine.... she was three steps to my right. Peeling vegetables near the sink? There was Gracie, three steps to my left.

So there I was, in my huge kitchen, having to take baby-steps either around or over Gracie as I cooked or baked or washed or cleaned. I can't even begin to count the times I nearly tripped over that dog as my kitchen kept shrinking because Gracie kept moving to keep close by my side. My thought was that Gracie kept close to me in the kitchen because she knew I was working with food (people food!). If my husband happened to walk into the kitchen, Gracie would move from my side to his, never taking her eyes off of him, no matter what kind of food I was cooking. I was her food-source, but my husband was her god.

We had four of the neighbors over for a pot-luck dinner last night. We had invited them before Gracie had to be rushed to the vet, before we knew there was anything even remotely wrong with her. I had asked my husband if he wanted to cancel the dinner last night, but he said no, everyone had been invited nearly a week ago, so he thought it best to just keep things as they were. Whenever we had company for dinner, I would put Gracie in the TV room with the cats. She was always very good and very quiet, she loved being with the cats, and our friends were just used to not having her around while we were eating.

I was hoping that no one would say Are you going to let Gracie out now? after we had dinner and dessert. No one did... the conversation kept flowing and going, and we were all solving the world's economic problems, comparing wildlife and insect stories, and trying to keep a sense of healthy reality about snakes and scorpions. No one mentioned Gracie. Which both saddened me and pleased me. Part of me was thinking "Don't y'all realize that someone is missing in this house?!" And part of me was thrilled that no one asked about Gracie because I knew both my husband and I would just fill up with tears and start boo-hooing, as my friend J would say.

A few times each day now, my husband and I will walk down the stairs saying Gracie-boo, which is what we usually said to Gracie first thing every morning. Gracie slept in the kitchen at night, never able to climb the stairs to the second floor. After spending 13 years of her life in a one-story home, she was probably wondering why we bought a house with two floors and two stairways. I thought she would like the smaller stairway from the kitchen, but she never even tried that one. And after falling on the main stairway shortly after we moved here, she stayed away from that one altogether.

"No matter what happens, life goes on in sensible way." My husband's mom always said that and it's a phrase I try to keep in mind. Life without Gracie. Life goes on. In a dog-less way. I can walk all around my big country kitchen, walking in straight lines, not baby-stepping over and around a 46-pound dog sleeping or curled up right where I'm trying to work.

And that's where I miss Gracie the most: in the kitchen. I miss the zig-zag trips around Gracie.