She was mine

Rantings and ravings at 1:05 to put off sleep as long as possible.

I see her on some weekends. I have a picture on my fridge. I'm told I can see her whenever I want, and that I'll always be a part of her. I lie in bed at night wondering what will happen to her, if she's okay. Worse, that it keeps me up at night, I oversleep and I overcompensate for my missed work hours by staying up on purpose. The later I'm awake, the worse regrets come and things you must consider but that you can't deal with at 1:30 in the morning plague you between blinks. That keeps you up longer, and your outlook slides deep.

I didn't want a dog. Too expensive. Could invest in exercise and a cleaner diet, then an assistance animal wouldn't be necessary. But of the better choices I've made in my life, I listened to my increasingly diagnosed and undertreated partner when she said she needed this and we got our pup. She didn't cure disability, that's not the point. The point was that she was there, and she was a fireball of warmth and bundle of nail-shaped cotton balls. She was everything in excess. She'd eat a stapler if you left it in reach.

I said once that I was glad we got a dog because I needed an excuse to be woken up at 5am and could use a good alarm clock. Nothing sobers you from sleep quite like the fear of cleaning shit up off the carpet instead of the lawn. Of course, sleep has always been an issue, and this meant I was getting up at the far end earlier but starting out later, and overall a diet of two hours a day does not a rested body make. But those two hours? To have your best friend sleeping up above your pillow, nestled between the love of your life and you? I could hold onto that ball of fur and zest for life like a bag of ice in the middle of the Sahara. Coincidentally, having her around was both amazing and fleeting.

I've since met people who've given up their dog (or dogs, god help them), who seem rather well adjusted and happy individuals. Not to rely on overused imagery but everyone's wearing a mask right? Thing is, whether the mask slips or sits firmly in place, your hands are still the ones taking the actions and making you look like a piece of shit. And so I look at these people and expect them to think of themselves the same way I think of me; reasons and justifications aside your dog was your dog and you let them go. Such a small thing, a simple pure mind, that wanted nothing more than to lie on your foot or look you in the eyes. And you hate yourself for it. A part of you thinks you should.

I've rarely lost human family members to death, hate or shame, and I can reassure myself that old friends that are not "now" friends weren't friends for life or worth keeping (note; some of the best friendships you can have are temporary, that doesn't mean you force a good thing passed its lifespan. Be a good friend - make new friendships). Letting her go put a 'mirror to my soul, a torch to my deepest feelings, made me answer to blah blah emotional copy'. All said and done, she was a friend for life and then some.

She may have become my best friend in the whole world, but she was still an assistance dog. A medical peripheral. An employee with a job to do. What happens when you become disabled; physically unable to do your job anymore? Someone else gets your job, and you decide if retirement is an option. And so we started planning her exit, and found a breeder for her little brother. He's really good at his job, and my arthritic little girl lives with her "grandpuppents". She's happy. She's gotten fat. The only difference between her living with my parents and living with strangers is that I can give something to my parents for once. Doesn't change that she's not my dog anymore.

I don't know. I miss my dog.

Fuck it.

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