Now in paperback, the co-founders of the Three Dog Bakery share the moving, funny, and inspirational story of a deaf and partially blind albino Great Dane named Gracie who helped inspire the owners as they built up their international retail chain to 32 stores and counting. Line drawings and photos throughout.

Mark Beckloff is a co-founder of Three Dog Bakery and co-author of Short Tails and Treats from Three Dog Bakery and Three Dog Bakery Cookbook. He and Dan Dye live with their dogs Claire, Dottie Mae, and Joe in Kansas City, Missouri.

Dan Dye is a co-founder of Three Dog Bakery and co-author of Short Tails and Treats from Three Dog Bakery and Three Dog Bakery Cookbook. He and Mark Beckloff live with their dogs Claire, Dottie Mae, and Joe in Kansas City, Missouri.

Foreword

vii

Kansas City Blues

1

(8)

Finding Grace

9

(8)

Here Comes Trouble

17

(12)

Little Miracle

29

(6)

Smell the Flowers

35

(8)

Sister Trouble

43

(28)

First Love

71

(22)

The Gracious Gourmet

93

(16)

My First Christmas

109

(12)

Auld Lang Syne

121

(14)

A Bakery for Dogs?

135

(46)

Gracie's Prime Time

181

(36)

Motherly Grace

217

(18)

Goodnight, Gracie

235

(12)

Epilogue

247

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The Used, Rental and eBook copies of this book are not guaranteed to include any supplemental materials. Typically, only the book itself is included. This is true even if the title states it includes any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.

Chapter One Blue is a nice word for how I felt. I must have looked like a cliche of mourning: gray late-November Sunday afternoon, me in raggedy sweats and a two-day beard, slumped down in a Sears Barca-Lounger that looked almost as good as it had the day I rescued it from a Dumpster my freshman year in college. All I needed was a half-empty bottle of whiskey, a crow on my shoulder, and an ashtray full of unfiltered cigarette stubs to finish the picture: Man Grieving Lost Loved One. It didn''t make it any easier that the loved one was my childhood best friend of eighteen years-my dog, Blue. The phone could ring all day; I just sat and stared at it. I wasn''t trying to avoid people. I just didn''t have anything to say. Except to Blue. And she couldn''t hear me anymore. There aren''t any diplomats or charm school graduates among my friends and family members, so their attempts to comfort me about Blue usually had the opposite effect. "She''s probably happier now" was a favorite, along with "you can always get another one"-though nothing could top "thank God it was only a dog!" Only two people managed not to make me feel worse. One was Anne, my friend and fellow copywriter at Midwestern Company, who had lost her beloved golden retriever, Arthur, only a few months earlier. The other was Mark, my best friend, new housemate, future business partner, and generally the soul of good sense, skepticism, and bad taste. Mark Beckloff and I had just gone in on a house together, a dilapidated "mansion" on Holmes Street in the heart of Kansas City. We planned to fix it up and sell it for a cool profit that would let us bankroll our business idea-as soon as we came up with one. For now it was our home until we did well enough to live somewhere else, or one of us pulled a Double Indemnity on the other-something I almost never considered. Blue''s passing hadn''t left us entirely dogless, because there were still Sarah and Dottie, aka "the girls," Mark''s canine contribution to the household. He likes to think he''s their human companion. Reality check: The girls are Mark''s proud owners. Sarah''s a two-year-old black Lab mix who''s always in a good mood, especially when she''s eating something Mark has to wear the next day. Dottie is an uncontrollable force of nature in the deceptive form of a year-old Dalmatian. Dottie wreaks havoc when she''s in a good mood; only her spots keep people from mistaking her for a tornado. Sarah, Dottie, Mark, and Anne gave me the most valuable gifts you can offer someone who''s grieving: solitude and, occasionally, quiet company. Then one frigid morning a few weeks later, Anne added another great gift to quiet caring: distraction. It was one of those bitter late-January days when you start wondering if a foot of snow might take the edge off the cold, and Anne, who always says her blood is too thin for Missouri winters, came into the office looking unseasonably happy. The fun-loving, energetic mom of two kids, Anne has the kind of call-''em-like-I-see-''em honesty that people associate with Harry S. Truman, who came from the same hometown. She''s also a former prom queen with a way of flirting that always reminds me of a waitress in a greasy spoon-you know she doesn''t mean it seriously, but it still makes you feel special. And once in a blue moon I get the eerie feeling she can read my mind. I was a little suspicious about her good mood despite the single-digit temperature, and asked what was up. "Nothing!" she said brightly. How was her weekend? "Fine!" When I finally demanded to know what was going on, she pretended to be indignant: "Can''t a gal be happy for no particular reason? Is there a law against being happy around here?" I knew better than to keep trying and went back to my work, which was just as well since we were up against a tight deadline on a new print-ad campaign for the Oh, So Delicioso! account. They were expanding their "authentic sauces" line beyond "a bit o'' Italy in every drop!" to "a