My friend Gracie died. It was sad, but not surprising. Grace had been getting cancer treatments for years. She didn’t get out much anymore, but it was still a joy to see her. From the time I was a puppy, I always got excited when I saw Gracie, she was my first role model, one hound to another. I will miss her dearly. I didn’t know her Basset companion Sophie, who died before I arrived on the scene, but now they can be reunited in doggie heaven and resume admiring each other’s flowers, a signature of their wardrobes.
Meanwhile, this leaves only four dogs on my block: next-door neighbor Grace the labradoodle, April the border collie ball chaser with two cats, Poncho the American Eskimo, the housemate of the late Gracie, and me, Queen Chloë the First. Not exactly a powerful posse to back up my fight against an ever-increasing number of cats and children in our environs. In fact, children on our block now outnumber dogs, 5 to 4, which is downright anti-Seattle.
I heard Gracie’s owner Jane tell Mike she wouldn’t be getting another dog, and no way that the people who own the house next door to us are bringing any dogs with them when (or if) they ever move in. I have one more chance: There’s still a house for sale in the middle of the block. In memory of Gracie, please let the buyers be dog lovers.