Dog Days

Like an idiot I clicked on this article. I guess I am missing Chewie so much I just wanted to identify with some other dogless soul. Well, I got what I deserved. Halfway through the second paragraph my heart sank and I swallowed hard, knowing exactly what would happen next.

It was the beginning of November and when I got home that night, it was dark and getting cold and I was tired, and I had to take Lee out for another walk. She ran up to me and barked as I came through the door, but then, when I went to get her leash, all of a sudden she couldn’t get up at all.

GREAT. It’s Friday at noon and I am hunched over my desk trying to hide my tears. Of course the dog is going to die! And I forced myself to read about it. I thought maybe I could desensitize myself to the reality of it, like watching the evening news. But it didn’t have that effect at all. Instead, it triggered a flash flood of emotions about Chewie, every apartment we’ve lived in together, our life in California, even how guilty I feel about bringing her back from “camp,” where she enjoys a truly spoiled-dog life.  I’ve been having terrible nightmares recently in which I make the unbearable decision to let Chewie live with my parents, because she is happier there, even though I go on to suffer alone. Dramatic!

In the eight years I had her, Lee was my only constant: I lived in seven apartments in two cities; I am on my fourth job, not counting internships and freelance work; I went to two graduate programs, one of which I finished, one of which I didn’t; I dated a bunch of guys, some for a while; I made and lost friends. And knowing I had to take care of her meant I couldn’t do certain things that people do in their 20s, like take spontaneous trips or stay out until dawn. Even though I knew on a rational level that she wouldn’t always be there, I sort of assumed that she would be. I couldn’t picture a world of mine in which she wasn’t.

Chewie and I have had a similarly nomadic experience, and she really was the constant that kept me grounded and purposeful, even if only to make sure I got home on time to go for a walk. Living on my own over the past month and a half has been necessary, beneficial “me” time, but it is also a terrible alternate reality in which my dog does not exist. And that would be worse than any sacrifice I’ve ever made to have her in my world. I don’t want to waste any more time without her, and I’m hopeful that many dog days still lie ahead.