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 Luckily, the other client had withdrawn her request.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...