Grendel at the beach

When I first met my ex-husband, he had a soul-mate dog — a smallish black lab named Satan. This dog had super powers. He could dive to the bottom of the swimming pool to retrieve a bone, he could leap any fence, and he once destroyed about twenty people’s shoes at a party where for some reason every one had doffed their shoes outside. My ex loved this dog so much that he spent the rest of his life trying to recreate that relationship. 

After Satan died, we got another black lab and named him Jaxson, after our favorite ice cream parlor. Jaxson was big and dumb and sweet — the quintessential black lab. He was a good dog (if a bit too amorous) unless a child happened to have an ice cream sandwich in her hand. In five seconds she’d look down and her hand would be empty while Jaxson licked his lips. Perhaps we shouldn’t have named him after an ice cream parlor. 

The third lab, Merlyn, had problems from the get-go. First of all, we got him from a breeder. (Believe me this was not my choice. I prefer a rescue dog.) When he was a few months old, we realized something was wrong with one of his hind legs. The vet couldn’t explain it, but the leg never did fully form right. Next it turned out he was allergic to everything. In spite of specialized homecooked diets and various medications, his skin was constantly inflamed and sometimes his eyes would swell up. He looked terrible, smelled awful, and neighbors constantly gave us stink eye as if it were our fault. 

Physically, Merlyn may have been a mess, but he didn’t let his ailments stop him. He was the most willfully disobedient and incorrigible creature I ever met. He would bust through an electric fence without a backward glance. He destroyed multiple remote controls, and I had to buy new shorts for one of the neighborhood kids after he ripped a hole in the ones she was wearing. A friend of mine said that if the “pet psychic” tried to read Merlyn’s mind, she would wind up in an asylum. For all of his faults, Merlyn was my favorite. It broke my heart to put him down when he was only seven years old after he got an autoimmune disease.

In 2012 when I divorced my lab-loving husband, I thought I’d never have to live with an un-neutered male black lab again. (That’s right. “You women are always trying to cut off our balls!”) However, I was happy when my ex got a new dog that same year. He hadn’t handled the divorce well, and I hoped that the dog would help him bring him some peace. Still trying to find another Satan, he actually ordered a black lab puppy from a breeder in Idaho, who put the puppy on a plane at seven weeks old and shipped him to California.  For several years this dog did not have a real name. My ex and my daughter called him “little dog” because he was smaller than her rottie. But soon there was nothing little about him. Finally, my ex decided to call him Grendel, after the monster in Beowulf. 

Of the four dogs, Grendel is the most handsome. He has a nicely shaped face and a gorgeous ebony coat. While I was happy that my ex had a dog to love, I hadn’t counted on someday having Grendel for my own. 

In September 2018 my ex had a stroke — a bad one. His entire right side was rendered completely useless. He couldn’t take care of himself, and I had a choice to make. I could take care of him myself or I could leave it to my daughter, who was just starting a career on the other side of the country. So I moved myself and my dog (a rescued chihuahua) into his house and left my own house in the care of a roommate. This is a whole ‘nother story, as they say, which I won’t get into here. Suffice it to say, when my ex died in August of 2019, I inherited Grendel. 

I’ll be honest. I did not want a big smelly lab who sheds mountains of fur in my house. But in my world, a dog is a family member and you take care of him and you love him until he’s gone.

Grendel’s dominant characteristic is sweetness. Other dogs love him. My cat adores him and will groom him if he’s lying still. He doesn’t have a mean or destructive tooth in his head. I heard a dog trainer once say all dogs just want approval. (That trainer never met Merlyn.) This is especially true of Grendel. He will do anything for love.

So Grendel now lives with me and my little dog, who hunches Grendel whenever he’s excited,  and the cat and my now husband. He gets fed, he gets affection, and he gets daily walks in the woods. He’s a little neurotic in his need for attention and will not stop perstering guests when they visit, constantly nudging his nose under their hands if they don’t pet him. No matter how much they love dogs, at some point I have to put him in the back bedroom. 

Now Grendel is almost 11 years old. And he’s entering the last chapter of his life. It turns out he has an enlarged heart, and eventually ( a few months, maybe a year) it will stop working. Of all the ailments he could have gotten, none could be more fitting. This dog has the largest heart of all.