Dog Gone Days

A few years ago, my then-girlfriend and I were on the precipice of making a significant decision that would alter the fate of our lives. We were determining whether we could adopt two miniature dachshund/chihuahua puppies. Our deliberations were short. In the end, we went to the immediately gratifying option of adopting the two young puppies and throwing ourselves into the wildly complicated world of being puppy parents. We were both inexperienced in taking care of dogs. Still, we each had experience taking care of cats, so we figured we would get the hang of the whole puppy parent thing quickly. And so we entered into the new world with Brass, the miniature dachshund puppy, and Monkey, the chihuahua puppy.

Naturally, our first instinct was to show off the dogs to any and all we could. And everyone was loving and supportive, despite how much they may have wanted to chastise or admonish us for making such a rash decision with minimal prior experience. Once a day of introductions came to a close, and the puppies were tired and worn out, we assigned them to their shared kennel in a subsection of my room with food and water bowls for them to share. Being over the moon ourselves, we decided to serenade our new little puppies with a collection of children’s nursery rhymes. Anyone outside who didn’t know any better would probably think we were cooing a young child to sleep, but that was not the case. With the puppies long asleep before our lullabies, we went to bed ourselves getting ready for the next steps in puppy care.

The following morning would punctuate a lot of our struggle from this point forward. MY then-girlfriend and I awoke, much earlier than either of us usually did, to the puppies moaning and anxious to be free of the kennel domicile and stretch their legs. When we let them out, we noted the kennel was extremely filthy. The training pads we had set down for them in the night were both damp and covered in excrement. Food was scattered all around, and the water bowl looked like it had sloshed around quite a bit and nearly tipped over. The puppies themselves seemed pretty clean, but we still wanted to make sure and take care of them as best as possible, being new puppy parents. My girlfriend took the puppies outside to stretch their legs, and I cleaned out the kennel and replaced the food and water. Nothing in life is without obstacles, and we felt we understood that better now.

The next few weeks were strained and difficult. My relationship with my then-girlfriend was falling apart, and we gradually grew unable to properly coexist together. My then-girlfriend would frequently leave the house, hang out with friends, or explore new hobbies to avoid being near me. I would be left alone to care for the puppies and attempt to raise Brass and Monkey myself. Even in the tumultuous period, I still found moments of joy and love with the two little dogs that I would then share with my then-girlfriend. My oldest brother was living with us at the time, and he has a dog himself. His dog very much likes to pretend other animals don’t exist. Still, I remember fondly how Brass and Monkey ignited something within my brother’s dog to actually get her to pay attention to them. They would play for a couple of hours before she’d eventually get bored and try to leave them. I still have a lot of cute and funny videos of those days on my phone.

A few more weeks passed. The summer had to come to an end, and the relationship between my then-girlfriend and I had officially ended. She had moved out of our place. But the puppies were still with me. I tried my best, but my ability to care for the animals just wasn’t up to the level it should have been. Monkey, already the runt of her litter of puppies, had gotten sick and needed an emergency vet visit. Bridging a gap with my ex-girlfriend, we agreed I needed to take Monkey to the vet ASAP, and so I did, taking her in at around 11pm at night. I signed her in, the vet started doing tests. My ex-girlfriend came to the vet office. We sat on the bench in a stilted but intimate silence as we held hands, awaiting the results for the vet. Fortunately, Monkey’s treatment would be pretty straightforward, but a more extensive decision about where these animals should go needed to be determined. I couldn’t provide the life they deserved by myself, and my ex-girlfriend was planning to leave the state in a couple of weeks.

In the days before she left, my ex-girlfriend organized a group of mutual friends to temporarily foster the puppies. They would then be given to their forever home with a mutual coworker of ours at the time. While she organized their fostering details, I did absolutely everything I could to keep Brass and Monkey healthy and happy. Dealing with post-break-up depression and the upcoming college semester made it difficult. All the same, I managed to take adequate care of them until it was finally time for me to drop them off at their new foster home.

I spent two hours with our mutual friends playing with the puppies and crying. Crying because I was losing them. Crying because the journey I’d set out on with a whole other person was coming to an end, and I was alone at its conclusion. I was crying because I couldn’t take better care of these dogs, and I had no one to blame but myself. But also crying because, although my time with Brass and Monkey was brief, the love and the memories I’ll have of them will stay with me the rest of my days. I cry because, despite my unilateral failure to adequately care for these animals, I know that they are both happy and loved wherever these dogs are right now.

Our adventures together were full of ups and downs, but we are both in better places than we were when we were together at the end of the day.