Gracie

If I were to write a children's book, it would definitely have to be about my dog, Gracie. She's cute, not too bright and she smells, all perfect qualities of a story book character.

Gracie thinks she's pretty tough and alert. Let me tell you she's not. While on walks, she sticks her nose in the air, look side to side, scanning the area for predators, but misses the mouse under her feet and the cat just a few steps away. I told you she's not the brightest penny in the bank, but I think it makes her all the more endearing.

My mom and I found Gracie when I was about 13 years old. We were on our way to pick up my sister, Erin, from camp and we weren't even very far from our house when we saw this little black puppy running down the road. My mom's not really the type to pick up stray animals, but because Gracie was so small, we scooped her up and took her on what probably was her first road trip. Now her only road trips involve going to the vet, and if she could, she'd tell you she'd rather stay home.

Gracie lived with us for three days. Erin and I bathed her, played with her and called her "Puppy," even though we joked that her name was probably something even more plain and horrible, like "Blackie" or "Fido."

We had three blissful days with the now Gracie, when she decided to go for a run down the road. I went after her and followed her down the driveway of a house two doors down. There was a little boy outside, about 2 or 3 I'd guess. As I collected Gracie, he said, "That looks like my dog, Blackie."

"No, no, little boy, this isn't your dog," I replied, horrified that this small child recognized my new best friend and he was calling her Blackie.

"I think it is. It looks just like Blackie."

Stop calling her that.

I stood pondering the fate of my soul and if it was worth stealing a dog, no matter how cute she was. I cringed. "Is your mom or dad home?"

"Yep that's our Blackie," this little boy's father said as I relunctantly handed over Gracie.

Heading home heavy-hearted but empty-handed, I wasn't at all happy that the lost dog had been returned.

But Gracie didn't forget me. She visited a lot. I'd sit in our doorway holding her when it was raining because my mom said she couldn't come in the house. She wasn't our dog, after all.

As far as Gracie and I were concerned, she was our dog. And one day, I had a surprise when I arrived home from school. Mom had noticed that the neighbors were moving, and so she mustered up some courage, these neighbors were kind of scary, and went over.

"If you don't want your little dog, we'll take her," she stammered. I wasn't there, but I imagine she stammered.

"She thinks she's your's anyway," was the gruff but welcome reply.

That's the story of how Gracie entered our lives. She's given us plenty more stories since, but I've probably gone on long enough, and I need to save something for the book, if it's ever going to be written.

I'll leave you with this.

Know how some people resemble their dogs physically? I'd say Gracie and I resemble each other's personalities. We both share the same goals in life, eating and sleeping. We're both always happy to see someone. So they can get us some food. We both like nighttime. So we can sleep.

And then it hit me...

That may be where the similiarities end, because I always notice the mouse under her feet and the cat a few steps away.