Another Goodbye

Well, damn. 
I just learned that Lucy Hogge, the most well-loved beagle on the planet, died in her human mom's arms this week.

Jacque's Lucy 

Lucy is well-represented in my collection of paintings and has made appearances in two Winery Dogs books among other things.  Lucy was luckily rescued by her human mom, Jacque Hogge of Cooper Vineyards, years ago after being shot, hit by a car and left on the side of the road to die. Every year Cooper Vineyards hosted a Lucy's Weekend event, in honor of her rescue and to benefit the Richmond SPCA.  


Lucy lived a good long life much to the credit of Jacque, who not only rescued and nurtured her, but always respected her as a dog and loved her like a human.  Both Jacque and Lucy are an inspiration for anyone considering rescuing an animal with medical needs.  The two have been nearly inseparable since their meeting and I know the heartache and empty space now that they are apart is difficult terrain to travel.  I know there will be another lucky dog in Jacque's future, but there will never be another Lucy.  

It is Never OK to Lose a Friend

                          “It is never ok to lose a friend.”  

                                                             Nancy Pecsok

No, it isn’t. Nancy could not have summed it up better.  It doesn’t matter if that friend is furry and barks or is hairless and walks upright. 

Gracie Allen, as we dubbed her, was our first fur-baby as a married couple.  Ernie inherited my pups Max, Shadow and Gus, but Max died shortly after our honeymoon.  Gracie came into our lives a few years later. 

A furry pup with boundless energy and a direct stare that early on reflected her intelligence and fearlessness. Of course we fell in love with her and that love affair never ended. She was Ernie’s running companion, sofa-mate and canine love. She was protector of our household, guardian against strangers, FedEX trucks and men with hats. Gracie demanded attention, noticed everything, spoke incessantly, slept fitfully, pranced, ran, danced and commanded respect. Her ears would rotate like radar, listening to everything, always on alert.  Gracie knew tricks, but couldn’t be bothered, was an agility champion, but became bored with the repetition, herded us all until we insisted it was rude.  She believed her job was to protect us and I believe it is what kept her here for so long. She didn’t want to retire and even at the end, she was not pleased that her body was giving up with a vengeance. 

I had to make that call, to end her life with assistance.  It will torture me, although in my head I know with all certainty it was humane. Every weekend when she saw her human daddy, she would rally the energy to pretend nothing was getting to her.  But during the week she would physically decline.  Getting around was more difficult and I could see her heart pumping through her ribs. The tumor had made it difficult for Gracie to breathe and eat and whatever nutrition she was receiving must have been gobbled up by that foreign creature in her throat.  Half of her body weight was gone.  

Even as we sat in the vet’s office, waiting for that last injection, she’d look at me, panting heavily, as if to say, “I don’t have to leave now...I can stay. I am willing to stay.”  

Well I was, too, willing for her to stay, but her body was done. I have no doubt she could have continued and now thankfully I will never know what kind of pain or torture she’d be willing to suffer to remain with us. Gracie never once indicated that she was suffering.  I can’t help but believe she was, and enduring it all with the silent grace that was her legacy. 

Gracie Allen, Pooterhead, Baby Girl, our pooh-bear.  Oh my goodness we miss her so.  I know she’s hovering around, still guarding us all, but at least she’s shed that dilapidated body that no longer served her sweet soul.  

Gracie Allen Castillo

It was with a heavy heart that we quietly said goodbye to Gracie Allen Castillo this evening, October 10, about 6:20 p.m.  Our entire household mourns the passing of a truly independent and amazing spirit.  

I will share her final chapter in days to come. 

In Honor of Rob

Tomorrow, October 6, it will have been a year since our friend Rob was murdered.  He was shot for no reason other than he was there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, for some young, hopeless gang member to kill in order to prove he was worthy of the gang.  Word of Rob’s death came directly from his wife, and how she was able to make that call to us, and likely to a number of others that day, is beyond me. When she told me he’d been shot, my only words were “oh my god.” repeatedly. I stammered, not knowing quite what to ask or to say, until she finally said, “Adele, he’s dead.”  I can’t even get this far in writing about it a year later without crying. 

Rob’s death hit us hard.  Harder than we might have imagined, if we’d ever imagined such a thing happening to him.  To anyone we knew.  Senseless. So ridiculously senseless.  Rob’s death left behind a tsunami of hurt and grief and changed the landscape of the lives of not only his family and friends, but also of each perpetrator involved.  How can they not have known that when (not if) they were caught, that their lives would never, ever, NEVER be the same, that they’d never have the opportunity to turn things around?  I cannot imagine the kind of life that leads a 19 year old young man - teen- to such a conclusion that his life may as well be over, why not take out a few others before it is?  

Rob was my husband’s childhood friend.  He grew up around Rob’s family, almost an honorary brother.  Ernie was first a friend of Rob’s older brother, since they were closer in age, and Ernie was a part of that brother’s wedding party.  As years passed, Rob and Ernie naturally became pals and eventually Rob was the best man in our wedding.  Rob married a year before we did and we all got along well. Rob was the kind of gentle giant who was always there to lend a hand, to share a laugh and a beer, to cheer you on in whatever endeavor you plunged into.  Rob loved people and had a heart larger than life.  He had found his love, his Becky, and he was a happy man at peace with the world he inhabited.  We had no idea how many lives he had touched until we attended his funeral. This was a beloved man with no enemies. His family meant the most to him, above all else, but he always had time for anyone else and I doubt he ever knew a stranger.  

Rob’s death has left Becky a widow.  She still grieves profoundly and likely will for a long while. Who can blame her?  Isn’t it enough that she daily endures the emotional turmoil of losing her husband to such a violent end, but also must wade through the murky waters of revenge, of “being a good Christian” while wanting to see Rob’s killers brought to a severe justice.  Life has turned her world upside down.  No one can fix it or make it better or bring her peace, although we wish that we could.  We all grieve for the loss of a good man.  But she will grieve endlessly for the loss of her lifetime companion.  There cannot possibly be any justice. 

Rob, we miss you terribly and profoundly.  May your place in the Universe now be one of peace, love and beauty.