Doggone It!
I’ve always had a dog.
In the early days it was Sparky, Bimbo, Sabrina.
Then Winston (still in the Dog Hall of Fame) and Daisy.
And now it’s Gracie, our beloved Golden Retriever.
I have a great group of supporters who’ve ”been there for me” throughout my cancer trials and tribulations, and Gracie sits (or perhap lays, snoring) at or near the very top of that list.
She’s always there, waiting to brighten up my day. All I have to do is call her.
She’s my steadfast friend who stays by my side when I’m sick in bed, following chemo.
I often wonder about people who have cancer, but don’t have a good support group. I see them from time to time at the Cade Cancer Center in Oklahoma City or at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, making their way to the next appointment, and I wonder how they do it alone. I’m not sure I could.
I have no great advice for these people. Cancer can be so God-awful lonely even when you’re surrounded by friends.
But I can say this: I hope they have a good pet. Or to be more specific, I hope they have a pet like Gracie, a companion who’s never, ever in a bad mood, never too tired to play, never too busy to give you the time of day. Gracie may not make it all the way up to Winston status, but if she keeps cuddling up by me after chemo, she has a shot.
She’s cuddling up next to me right now, but she seems a little less peaceful and serene than normal. That’s because Gracie had a really bad day.
LeAnn had booked her for a shampoo at a local pet place I’d rather not name. I dropped her off in the morning, then headed off to work. The plan, which we’ve done many times, was a shampoo, nothing more. The kids would pick her up after school, and Gracie would be all fluffy and smelly-good when we all met at home.
But things didn’t go as planned. It was just after 4 p.m. and I was still at work when my cell phone rang.
“Is this Mr. Chastain? Mr. Jim Chastain?” the caller asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you the owner of Gracie?” she asked, a bit too formally.
“Gracie? Yes….”
“Well this is Geena (not her real name) over at Pets Marred (not its real name).” (I’m paraphrasing too.)
“Oh yes. My kids should be there any minute.”
“Okay… Well we have a problem.”
My heart sank.
Please God, I begged. Whatever it is, just let her be alive.
“A problem? What is it?”
“Well, you see we had another Golden in here and, uhh… they kind of got mixed up.”
I’m nearly hyperventilating while she’s speaking. Was Gracie okay, that’s all I wanted to know.
“I was in the middle of shaving her when we figured it out,” Geena explained.
“Shaving her? So she’s okay?”
“Oh yes. She’s fine. But I thought she was the other dog and I started shaving her. I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“So she’s shaved?” I asked. ”Like really shaved?”
Who shaves a Golden Retriever?
“Well partially shaved. But when I figured it out I stopped. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, it is what it is,” I philosophized. “Nothing we can do about it now. I hope you’re not charging me.”
“Oh no,” she said.
I can’t remember how we finished the conversation. I was too busy wondering how bad Gracie looked. I mean, being terminal, I was able to keep things in perspective. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It was just hair. People make mistakes. They had even offered a free grooming.
But then again, Gracie is such a beauty. It was going to be a little sad to see her “partially shaved.”
Maddye called a bit later as I was driving home.
“You’re going to have to see this,” she said.
“Is it bad?” I asked.
“It’s kind of like she has a mullet.”
I arrived at home just after five and found Gracie lying in my bed, looking puzzled and a bit sad. Her long beautiful coat was gone, except on her front legs, the only place where she hadn’t been sheared. It was like Gracie’s head and front legs had been placed on a sheep. If it had been July or August, this “partial shave” would have at least kept her comfortable. But this was early February.
Like I said, it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened. So she’d lost some hair. I’d been losing hundreds of ‘em during the last few weeks. So she’d look a bit silly. I, the hairless, one-armed, near albino, look a bit silly too.
At least we’d give people something to talk about when I took her out for a walk.
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Comments
Poor Gracie, she must be wondering what she had done to deserve this treatment. No wonder she was hiding out in your bed.
Thank you for sharing.
Hey Jim, I just ran across your story and watched all of your videos online. I just wanted to say thank you for your words of wisdom. Your commentary about making memories was especially meaningful to me…you definitely struck a cord and will make better decisions with how I/we spend our time. In fact, I just decided that we would be taking a family vacation that we thought we might not be able to afford. Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us. We can’t live in fear of what might or might not happen. I don’t know if it is appropriate to say this, but I hope so badly that you will be able to beat this. I believe anything is possible. I admire your strength and know you will fight it for as long as it takes.
My best to you and your family. You will be in my thoughts. -Barry
Hi, not sure if you remember me or not (I went to Madison and graduated BHS 1984) but someone posted your blog on Facebook and I followed the link, here I am. I feel like I have a ‘cancer connection’ with you and I find myself drawn to reading your journey. You are an incredibly gifted writer and I too love writing…Anyway, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2003, 5 mos after the birth of our 4th child. I have been cancer free for 5+ years and so grateful yet so heartbroken for you. I just wanted to let you know I pray for you. Your story about your Gracie was priceless. We had 2 golden’s growing up -they were precious and like you, why would anyone shave them? That’s odd. Anyway, glad she is okay! Take care Jimmy. Thanks for sharing your life and your journey with so many people.
Sincerely,
Mindi Barker Gaut
Hi Jim, I love reading your “blogs”. You have a great way of putting life in perspective. I keep you on my prayer list and think of you and your family often. I work with your mother-in-law, Kathy at Bryant. Thank you so much for sharing your story. I know you touch many people each day! Thinking of you, Amy Moinian