A Big Little Life

A Big Little Life
Dean Koontz

Dean Koontz’s first ever nonfiction book, the deeply moving story of his life with his good dog TrixieDean Koontz is known for exploring the dark side of human nature in his fiction. But his softer, playful side comes out when he talks about his beloved dog, Trixie, a golden retriever.Trixie had a special place in Dean's heart. And now, in this, his first non-fiction book, Dean opens his heart to his readers to give us memories of Trixie, of the glorious dog who changed him and changed his life.There's everything in this memoir: adventure, mischief, emotion, and sadness too. Dean will talk with joy about the many gifts Trixie gave him – and the lessons she taught – and he'll talk with sadness at losing his beloved pet.The loss of a dog is a heartbreak that's been experienced by a great many people, and Dean's delving into that loss is a powerful part of this book, and a cathartic experience for those of us who have loved and lost an animal companion.Trixie had a big little life and lives for ever in Dean’s heart … and in these pages.

a big little life

a memoir of a joyful dog

DEAN KOONTZ

To Gerda, who shared the wonder and the loss, who knows that the pain was so great because the joy before it was even greater, and who had the courage to do it all again. Bliss to you.

Dogs live most of life in Quiet Heart.

Humans live mostly next door in Desperate Heart.

Now and then will do you good to live in our zip code.

—TRIXIE KOONTZ, Bliss to You

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u98e9d9c1-2e8f-5a3e-b7b7-f7d566b4d2cc)

a big little life (#uab9560bf-6efd-5216-83e9-30bd1a622531)

Dedication (#u51cbfa56-6a49-5352-9f2a-dfa31ea6cc40)

Epigraph (#ub32168da-3698-5a45-a72b-b6aeb7d78080)

I a spooky moment around which the entire story revolves (#u8cedac9c-43fb-5529-bfc6-e2cceb0d2ff4)

II life before trixie (#ub679665c-a4ca-594f-bbb1-daeddf3f640f)

III anticipation, adventure, and anal glands (#ufe3280b4-cefe-5b42-a6ea-9e2c94b546e3)

IV “if this dog does something wrong, the fault will be yours, not hers” (#u675fa270-dbe8-5d73-b6d9-cf08d15001b9)

V if she could talk, she’d do stand-up comedy (#u1388a60c-53e0-5de3-8cc5-d1b586ecb77d)

VI she poops on command, but not just anywhere (#u209f41e1-309f-572f-b1e5-a8b2d460d648)

VII cnn, cci, tv, and tk (#u60bb4ed9-fc47-59a4-993c-a52ec4b93b4b)

VIII i screw up, dog takes the rap (#litres_trial_promo)

IX this is where i belong (#litres_trial_promo)

X please don’t send my sweet dog to jail (#litres_trial_promo)

XI things that go boom (#litres_trial_promo)

XII things that go bump in the night (#litres_trial_promo)

XIII a nose for trouble (#litres_trial_promo)

XIV freedom of speech (#litres_trial_promo)

XV water, wonder, work (#litres_trial_promo)

XVI time and memory (#litres_trial_promo)

XVII dogs and death (#litres_trial_promo)

XVIII elbow surgery and meatballs (#litres_trial_promo)

XIX “may i tell you a wonderful truth about your dog?” (#litres_trial_promo)

XX dr. death and dr. berry (#litres_trial_promo)

XXI critic, author, dog entrepreneur (#litres_trial_promo)

XXII endings always come too fast (#litres_trial_promo)

XXIII “in my end is my beginning” (#litres_trial_promo)

everafter... (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

I a spooky moment around which the entire story revolves (#ulink_6ac52401-57a8-5a75-8326-5575392056a3)

THE SPOOKY MOMENT central to this story comes on an evening more than ten years ago.

Trixie, a three-year-old golden retriever of singular beauty and splendid form, adopted the previous September, is in her fourth month with my wife, Gerda, and me.

She is joyful, affectionate, comical, intelligent, remarkably well behaved. She is also more self-possessed and dignified than I had ever realized a dog could be.

Already and unexpectedly, she has changed me as a person and as a writer. I am only beginning to understand the nature of those changes and where they will lead me.

January 1999:

Our first house in Newport Beach, in the neighborhood known as Harbor Ridge, had an exceptionally long up-stairs hallway, actually a gallery open to the foyer below. Because this hall was carpeted and thus provided good traction for paws and because nothing breakable stood along its walls, I often played there with Trixie on days when the weather turned foul and on cool winter evenings when the sun set early.

Initially, I tossed a ball and sometimes a Kong toy down the hall. The Kong was about six inches long, made of hard rubber with an inch-wide hole through the middle. You could stuff a mixture of peanut butter and kibble in the hole, to keep your dog occupied for an hour or longer. I tried this twice, but Trixie managed to extract the tasty mixture from the Kong in five minutes, which was less time than I took to prepare it.

One evening the rubber Kong bounced wildly and smashed into a small oil painting, splitting the canvas. The painting was very old, and it was one of Gerda’s favorites.