Gracie the black Lab earned her nickname, the Mess, early on in life. Her first snow provided the opportunity to dig for frozen “treats” in the back yard. Let’s just pretend they were frozen Snickers bars… The Mess as moniker had probably already caught on by then, but Gracie figured it needed to be codified.
Gracie was a gifted athlete. Had we the inclination, she could’ve spent her Saturday mornings diving off piers on the Ocho, catching discs and air.
She often slept on her back, completely spread eagle and head cocked to one side. She loved chocolate and could get creative in her search for it. Percy Fawcett and the lost city of Z had nothing on Gracie and the hunt for chocolate. As tough as nails, the Mess never took to heart the message that chocolate is supposed to be bad for the four-legged among us. Besides, once she consumed almost a whole box of Million Dollar bars — which we foolishly believed to be out of reach — and lived to tell about it. Sometimes I imagine her stomach as Gettysburg, July 1863. Or maybe Verdun circa 1916.
She loved beer, Yuengling in particular, and, in her latter days, was partial to Campbell’s — double chicken noodle and Chunky sirloin burger. (Don’t tell anyone, but she loved the occasional Reese’s too. She was a lady of refinement and taste, after all, taking after her dad.)
The Mess was a terrific passenger and loved hanging her head out of the window. On nice days, I’d swear her tongue was dragging the pavement below.
Rolling Frisbees were perhaps her favorite objects to chase, followed not too far behind by squirrels and chipmunks. Or one of us, should we advance too far down a trail or road against her better reconnaissance.
Her favorite places were the Allsopp Park trails in Little Rock, her little swimming hole on Jimerson Creek behind my in-laws’ house, my comfy leather recliner and, well, anywhere we were. If we waded into the River Styx to march on Hades, she would’ve been right by our side. Hers was the sweetest disposition. She never met another person or critter she didn’t like. She trusted us and gave our love back in spades. And though she was 13 years, eight months, when she left us, she was gone much too soon.
Why are we never quite ready for the things we see coming? I’m one of those folks who relates better to dogs than to people. Once you’ve proven trustworthy, unconditional love flows from dogs freely and in abundance, as if straight from the fountainhead. Can anyone really say that they’ve ever met a truly bad dog?
Mankind’s relationship with dogs, I’m convinced, is one of God’s greatest gifts. And I’ll always count the almost 14 years we got to share with Gracie the Mess as a beautiful gift.
If I could only relate to people just as well. Perhaps I’ll adopt Gracie’s point of view. The world is its own mess these days, but there are too many holes to swim and trails to explore, too much wild blue yonder into which to stick one’s head — and too much for which to be grateful — not to do so.
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