Here? Smack in front of the picture window? 4 страница

thing, all the disappointments and unmet

expectations, Marley had given us a gift, at once

priceless and free. He taught us the art of unqual-

ified love. How to give it, how to accept it. Where

there is that, most of the other pieces fall into

place.

The summer after his death we installed a swim-

ming pool, and I could not help thinking how

much Marley, our tireless water dog, would have

loved it, loved it more than any of us possibly

could, even as he gouged the liner with his claws

and clogged the filter with his fur. Jenny marveled

at how easy it was to keep the house clean without

a dog shedding and drooling and tracking in dirt. I

admitted how nice it was to walk barefoot in the

grass without watching where I stepped. The gar-

den was definitely better off without a big, heavy-

pawed rabbit chaser crashing through it. No doubt

Marley & Me

about it, life without a dog was easier and im-

mensely simpler. We could take a weekend jaunt

without arranging boarding. We could go out to

dinner without worrying what family heirloom

was in jeopardy. The kids could eat without hav-

ing to guard their plates. The trash can didn’t have

to go up on the kitchen counter when we left.

Once again we could sit back and enjoy in peace

the wondrous show of a good lightning storm. I

especially liked the freedom of moving around the

house without a giant yellow magnet glued to my

heels.

Still, as a family, we were not quite whole.

One morning in late summer I came down for

breakfast, and Jenny handed me a section of the

newspaper folded over to expose an inside page.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she said.

Once a week, our local paper featured a dog

from a rescue shelter that needed a home. The

profile always featured a photograph of the dog,

its name, and a brief description, written as if the

dog were speaking in the first person, making its

own best case. It was a gimmick the shelter people

used to make the animals seem charming and

adorable. We always found the doggie résumés

amusing, if for no other reason than the effort

John Grogan

made to put the best shine on unwanted animals

that had already struck out at least once.

On this day, staring up from the page at me was

a face I instantly recognized. Our Marley. Or at

least a dog that could have been his identical twin.

He was a big male yellow Lab with an anvil head,

furrowed brow, and floppy ears cocked back at a

comical angle. He stared directly into the camera

lens with a quivering intensity that made you just

know that seconds after the picture was snapped

he had knocked the photographer to the ground

and tried to swallow the camera. Beneath the

photo was the name: Lucky. I read his sales pitch

aloud. This is what Lucky had to say about him-

self: “Full of zip! I would do well in a home that is

quiet while I am learning how to control my en-

ergy level. I have not had an easy life so my new

family will need to be patient with me and con-

tinue to teach me my doggie manners.”

“My God,” I exclaimed. “It’s him. He’s back

from the dead.”

“Reincarnation,” Jenny said.

It was uncanny how much Lucky looked like

Marley and how much the description fit him, too.

Full of zip? Problem controlling energy? Working

on doggie manners? Patience required? We were

well familiar with those euphemisms, having used

them ourselves. Our mentally unbalanced dog was

Marley & Me

back, young and strong again, and wilder than

ever. We both stood there, staring at the newspa-

per, not saying anything.

“I guess we could go look at him,” I finally said.

“Just for the fun of it,” Jenny added.

“Right. Just out of curiosity.”

“What’s the harm of looking?”

“No harm at all,” I agreed.

“Well then,” she said, “why not?”

“What do we have to lose?”

Acknowledgments

No man is an island, authors included, and I

would like to thank the many people whose

support helped me bring this book to fruition. At

the top of the list, let me start by expressing my

deep appreciation to my agent, the talented and

indefatigable Laurie Abkemeier of DeFiore and

Company, who believed in this story and my abil-

ity to tell it even before I fully did myself. I am

convinced that without her unflagging enthusiasm

and coaching, this book would still be locked in

my head. Thank you, Laurie, for being my confi-

dante, my advocate, my friend.

My heartfelt thanks to my wonderful editor,

Mauro DiPreta, whose judicious and intelligent ed-

iting made this a better book, and to the always

cheerful Joelle Yudin, who kept track of all the de-

tails. Thanks also to Michael Morrison, Lisa Gal-

Acknowledgments

lagher, Seale Ballenger, Ana Maria Allessi, Chris-

tine Tanigawa, Richard Aquan, and everyone in the

HarperCollins group for falling in love with Marley

and his story, and making my dream a reality.

I owe a debt to my editors at the Philadelphia In-

quirer for rescuing me from my self-imposed exile

from the newspaper business that I love so much,

and for giving me the priceless gift of my own col-

umn in one of America’s greatest newspapers.

I am beyond grateful to Anna Quindlen whose

early enthusiasm and encouragement meant more

to me than she will ever know.

A hearty thank-you to Jon Katz, who gave me

valuable advice and feedback, and whose books, es-

pecially A Dog Year: Twelve Months, Four Dogs,

and Me, inspired me.

To Jim Tolpin, a busy lawyer who always found

the time to give me free and sage advice. To Pete

and Maureen Kelly, whose companionship—and

cottage overlooking Lake Huron—was the tonic I

needed. To Ray and JoAnn Smith for being there

when I needed them most, and to Timothy R.

Smith for the beautiful music that made me cry.

To Digger Dan for the steady supply of smoked

meats, and to my siblings, Marijo, Timothy, and

Michael Grogan, for the cheerleading. To Maria

Rodale for trusting me with a beloved family heir-

loom and helping me find my balance. To all those

Acknowledgments

friends and colleagues too numerous to mention

for their kindness, support, and good wishes...

thank you all.

I could not have even contemplated this project

without my mother, Ruth Marie Howard Grogan,

who taught me early on the joy of a good tale well

told and shared her gift for storytelling with me.

With sadness, I remember and honor my biggest

fan of all, my father Richard Frank Grogan, who

died on December 23, 2004, as this book was go-

ing into production. He did not get the chance to

read it, but I was able to sit with him one night as

his health failed and read the few opening chapters

aloud, even making him laugh. That smile, I will

remember forever.

I owe a huge debt to my lovely and patient wife,

Jenny, and my children, Patrick, Conor, and

Colleen, for allowing me to trot them out into the

public spotlight, sharing the most intimate of de-

tails. You guys are good sports, and I love you be-

yond words.

Finally (yes, last once again), I need to thank

that pain-in-the-ass four-legged friend of mine,

without whom there would be no Marley & Me.

He’d be happy to know that his debt for all the

shredded mattresses, gouged drywall, and swal-

lowed valuables is now officially satisfied in full.

About the Author

John Grogan is the Pennsylvania columnist for

the Philadelphia Inquirer and the former edi-

tor in chief of Rodale’s Organic Gardening mag-

azine. Previously he worked as a reporter, bureau

chief, and columnist at newspapers in Michigan

and Florida. His work has won numerous awards,

including the National Press Club’s Consumer

Journalism Award. He lives on a wooded hillside

in Pennsylvania with his wife, Jenny, three chil-

dren, and a surprisingly calm Labrador retriever

named Gracie.

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