Puppy Love

A lament and celebration

Summer was his favorite season. Just like mine. For years, Ace Ebeneezer, the fine gentleman Doberman Pinscher and I filled and lost hours under the hot Georgia sun. Alongside the plush and verdant landscape our yard, we moved to interval shade only out of necessity. We were worshipers like the ancient Egyptians, Indo-Europeans and Meso-Americans whose god was the sun, the bestower of light and life to the totality of the cosmos. Ace relished a blanket of grass or freshly scratched patch of cool earth where he could maintain his 101 degree canine temperature while taking in a good, long soak of sunlight. And respecting the dignified way that he carried himself—and because of my mystic suspicion that he was cousin to the elegant and indomitable James Baldwin in a previous life—I never tethered him or locked him behind our backyard gates for more than a few minutes. And I took a bit of heat for this liberal handling. Occasionally, Ace would leave the yard for a quick neighborhood stroll and a couple of those new to our gentrifying neighborhood would object. One particular gentrifier followed Ace home and walked into our kitchen uninvited when, in his estimation, I didn’t respond to the doorbell fast enough. But Ace was ol’ skool and getting on in age and I didn’t have the heart to disrupt his walking reveries with newly imposed restrictions.

I came to love Ace reluctantly. He was originally the charge of my daughter, who spotted him in in one of those rescue carnivals in front of a PetSmart. An unfortunate captive of a weird woman who had given him a weird name, my daughter paid the required ransom, renamed him, and took him home. When my daughter’s circumstances changed, Ace became part of my little dog pack and I did the basics for the gentle giant but not much more. He wasn’t my type. Hardly social and definitely not a cuddler, Ace seemed indifferent to my presence except for when I was late with his dinner or letting him out for his morning constitutional. His classic wedge-shaped head and sleek physic were striking but he didn’t “do it” for me, a person used to smaller, more compact dogs whose bodies begged for bundling up on a shared couch or bed. Slowly, though, Ace began to reveal his personality—and I liked it—which turned out to be more like that of a human than a dog. I know, I know. I’m about to be accused of anthropomorphism. But, I promise, there are credible witnesses who can attest to clear and consistent expressions of disapproval, distinction, expectancy, finality, reverence and more that came from this noble canine. And, shock of all shocks, after living together for more than three years, this dog that I believed to be aloof raised his big paw and hit me as I walked past the fitted-sheet-covered chaise lounge in our living room that had become his. When I spun around to face him, he raised his paw again and gently laid it on my chest. With that invitation, I stepped closer and Ace Ebeneezer leaned into me as if to make up for all the loveless days we allowed to slip by. From that day forward he was more than just my grand-pup. He was my puppy love. Falling in love with Ace taught me that having a type is, 1) bull shit and, 2) nothing more than repeating what’s been done before with completely different beings. He taught me that connection is not always based in physical attraction, that simple care and shared time can be powerfully fulfilling. I won’t go as far as saying that Ace’s life and its commingling with mine was destined or necessary for me to realize these things but I will say that had I not been open to learning through engagement—even when the engagement was with a dog—this would be a blank page and life would be less textured for it.

On July 5^th, Ace became critically ill and was euthanized after we learned he had a virulent cancer. Earlier that day, though, he was feeling good and took a short walk in the neighborhood where I’m certain he said many loving goodbyes. Ace was not the first dog to teach me an important lesson but he certainly was the most unlikely. Passing each other, as we did for years, like metaphorical ships in the night, we both were leaning into what we were rather than what we were becoming. I am grateful to Ace for making the first move—for initiating the grand gesture of intimacy—a paw to the back that was, at first, mistaken for a swat.

The last two weeks have been a blur. Even after clearing and cleaning, I see Ace in all his usual spots. Sprawled behind my desk-chair in his Sealy Lux dog bed, sitting like a pharaoh on the chaise lounge, rolling from side to side on the lawn, cooling down on the deck and burrowed among wild plants in the backyard. And as I emerge from the fog of grief, one more thing has become crystal clear. While the place we call the heart seems to be broken when we are required to say goodbye, it is the mind that grabs at sorrow and must find its way back to light. Time does not heal but time is the channel through which the mind can exchange sorrow for joy. I am remembering Ace Ebeneezer’s pleasure in consistency. I am remembering his tempered excitement when I returned home after a long trip. I am remembering Ace’s tolerant expression as my daughter dotted his lips with staccato kisses. I am remembering joy. I am remembering love.