Alice's Chair
She
adopted me. It was October, 1996 ; not long after my one and only
son, Dylan, packed up his belongings and headed out the door for his
first year at Wesleyan U. Ignoring warnings to “give it time”, I
found myself at the Greyhound track in Bridgeport, Ct. A yelping
chorus preceded my timid entry into the kennel. I will never forget
the sight of dog after dog lined up in two -tiered cages. These
veterans seemed huge; many with sickening battle scars. All heroes
and heroines with empty eyes. Then I noticed a cage isolated from
the others and within was a delicate fawn-like creature, much
smaller than the rest. “She just had surgery”, the manager,
Penny said. “When will she be ready for adoption ?”I asked. “
Soon, but someone else is waiting for her.. Give me your number just
in case.” Penny explained that she was fortunately only in one
race. Although traumatized and trampled due to her small stature,she
was graced with early retirement.
Flash
to two weeks later and I am back nervously signing adoption papers .
Luckily, the other client had withdrawn her request. There were rules about
using a muzzle at first. (to protect my cat, “just in case”) I
was asked to attest that I would have a cage/kennel for her so she
would feel comfortable. After all, she never lived with a family and
her home was an ugly metal jail. Then and there, I named her, Alice
because no other name would suit her.
Alice
had a mane; an equine headdress that I can still feel today. Inside
her ear was a blue tinged tattoo ; a human stamp of dominance and
cruelty. She had the saddest eyes and bowed her head submissively.
And so off we strolled to the parking lot ; a Mom with a recent hole
in her heart and a timid creature scared for her life. But, as Penny
prophetically said, we were a “perfect match”.Pitifully, the
muzzle was way too big for her needle nose and I had to lift her into
the car. All the way home, I kept thinking, “What have I done?”
Once
home, I carried her up my porch stairs and the muzzle bit the dust.
I quickly learned that she was much more at risk from Sebastian, my
cat. He promptly clawed her nose and poor Alice whimpered. The very first
night, she balked, donkey-like , at the entry to her cage and I
retired it to the basement. She formed her own cave in my back
hallway and lived there for a couple of weeks. But , bit by bit she
ventured out. I have memories of lying on the floor with her as she
seemed most comfortable being at eye level. There came a day, when
Alice learned to jump up on the couch. Another when she finally
learned how to get into the car and climb some stairs.
I
was told that greyhounds are, “couch potatoes”, which is mostly
true. But I rued the day that I was encouraged to let her run free at
Seaside Park. Once unleashed, she looked at me for about two seconds
as I watched the dawn of remembrance flicker in her eyes. She turned
in a circle once and then sped off so fast that I could only manage
to see a brown dot in the distance. Eventually, she tired of the
teasing game or just ran out of steam. I did learn, though, that
Alice was always fearful when faced with narrow spaces; probably a
flashback to her racetrack nightmare.
In
2,000, I married and we moved to Milford, CT. There, Alice guarded
the Duck Pond and trampled the leaves each Autumn,. Once, while we
were out, the fire alarm went off and the firemen joked that they
thought there was a kangaroo jumping up and down at the door. It was
just Alice's way of greeting people, but with her huge ears, pointy
nose and coloring, she was a close clone to a Wallaby.
Back then, and throughout her life, people would often stop me
and say, “What a wonderful thing you did !”. Me ? I thanked my
lucky stars, she came into my life. I was often told by Vets that
she would probably not live past 8 or 9, due to her breed and other
medical factors. Well, this skinny girl proved them all wrong. She
just progressively dwindled. One of the saddest occurrences was her
refusal to get into the car. That used to be the highlight of her
day. As all animal lovers will agree, there never seems to be the right
time to let your pets go. Even now, I can't write about her last
day. Just know that she had her last doggie ice cream and was at
peace.
Last
month, we parted with “Alice's chair”. We kept it until it no
longer seemed a part of her. The chair, itself ,became just a
decrepit eyesore; no longer a part of her remarkable spirit. We kept
it with us, just as we kept her; well- past their expiration dates.
Initially, the torn upholstery reflected her life. And we often mused
about how she could delicately curve her bony body into a ball,
leaving her spindly legs to dangle in space.
We
kept it with us even when Alice could no longer manage to lift her
aging body. She simply stared at the chair, longingly wishing
herself back into its comfort and warmth.
Just
as we still long for her...
