In
Memoriam for Alice Caswell
1995 to October 19, 2005
In Wonderland with Alice
We brought Alice home from her Golden Retriever Rescue
Club of Charlotte (GRRCC) foster home 4 ½ years ago. She was a six and a
half year old, rescued, golden retriever named Asti. She had been part of a
family the first year of her life, then put outside in a pen with another
dog for five years before finally being given to the GRRCC. Originally,
Alice was to be our gift for our lab mix, Charlie, who had lost his mate to
liver cancer and then severed his cruciate ligament. Charlie had just been
released from a six-month confinement while his rebuilt hind leg healed, and
I was fulfilling my promise to him by finding him a companion. Alice seemed
like the perfect companion: she was middle aged (like his former companion),
had weak legs as did Charlie, and had recently suffered the loss of a
companion as did Charlie.
When she arrived, Alice puzzled us: she paced the
perimeter of our home, circled clockwise three times and lay down and slept.
When we had met her , Alice had greeted us as though we were her long lost
friends! Now, she slept and ignored us and her surroundings. (Later, I
realized that her initial greeting was her instinctive, golden retriever
behavior, which won hearts and opened doors wherever we went, and that she
was grieving her recent losses.) The next morning, Charlie excitedly greeted
my husband John and positioned himself for his routine walk. Alice wouldn’t
move. She wouldn’t respond to my coaxing, to John’s calls, or to Charlie’s
example. I accepted my challenge, changed her name to Alice, and assumed the
role of master.
Slowly
and courageously, Alice opened her heart to us and the love that we
provided. She rose with us in the morning, joined us on our walks, began to
trust us when we reached to pet her, and began to trust Charlie when he
nudged her to play. In time, she joined Charlie in the race to greet us,
stood in the queue with her eyes excited in anticipation of her treats, and
enjoyed our sunset rides on the boat. She slept cuddled next to us, let
Charlie roll lazily over her, watched with joy from the dock as we swam, and
delighted in her toys. Every morning, Alice carefully selected toys from the
overflowing basket of toys while I exercised. She carried each to a specific
area in the room, placed it on the floor, and went for another toy, until
she finally found one to take to bed to rest her head on while she napped.
Before long, Alice responded to the most routine pet or treat as though it
were the greatest gift in the world and looked at us with love and
gratitude.
As Alice’s spirit unfolded, I saw the mistake her previous
owners had made in not sharing life with her. At lunch, she would politely
wait for me to sit down to eat before eating her favorite treat, a raw hide
chew. Whenever I brought a new object into the house, whether it was a book
or a plant, she immediately identified and checked the object. I was amazed
by her compassion, stoicism, and trust. Last autumn, when I brought my
mother to live with us under hospice’s care, Alice refused to leave my
mother’s side. She had become a self-taught therapy dog, comforting my
mother until my mother died half a year ago. Then, she comforted me as I
grieved my loss, and comforted Charlie after he severed his other cruciate
ligament and spent six-months in confinement. There was no end to Alice’s
steadfastness and understanding. She had become our rock of Gibraltar.
Three weeks ago, I was shocked when Alice’s kidney
suddenly failed. True to her nature, Alice bravely accepted her condition
and treatment and won the hearts of the staff at the emergency clinic. She
died sleeping peacefully by my side on the floor, as I stroked her back and
thanked her for introducing us to her wonderland of spirit.
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