And it is. It doesn’t matter if it is a relationship, a friend, a family member dying or the loss of a beloved pet. Loss is loss.
Once upon a time, there was this really self-centered, selfish girl who didn’t think about much except the next moment. She pretty much lived life like there was no tomorrow. No planning, kind of scattered. A really charming fuck-up. When she broke up with yet another loser boyfriend, she felt like maybe she needed a little something more in her life. Not more men, but perhaps a puppy.
So this girl adopted a dog. This union was meant to be. I don’t think anyone would have put up with her at that time in her life, or with him. He was trouble, and trust me, so was she.
Typical story, not very interesting, except for the fact that the next four years led her from selfish bitch to
humanitarian dogitarian. Said dog ended up with a chronic disease that the girl continued to fight for three years until it wasn’t a fight anymore. She had to let him go with dignity. It was the hardest thing this girl ever decided to do (fuck those two marriages, they meant a LOT less to her than this precious dog). At the time, she never, ever thought she would love like that again. She found her “soul mate” and he was a four-legged one. That hot mess bundle of trouble taught her so much more about life and love than she ever expected.
She did find love again. She loved/still loves a human boy a LOT. She would crawl over broken glass for him. Since her beloved dog that died nine years ago, this girl has had four dogs she loved more than anything on this earth, other than the human boy. Then one of them died this year, and she was sad again, but she recovered more quickly this time because she learned that first time dogs kind of pave our way to heaven, and it’s all okay when they leave us because we will be with them again someday.
Now there are three. And a cat.
Today, she sits and writes with three dogs. Her dog blankets are stinky and she is forever cleaning up after the furbrats. She has to plan her evenings around medicine time, and some days, she is taxed with just rounding up those little dogs to get them in line and on a single sofa for rest! My God, it is a never-ending battle for this girl, and usually, the dogs win. (Not that she cares.) Even so, this girl believes that no matter what the struggle, it is worth it. It is worth it.
And it always is. Yes, it always is.
For some reason, any stray or lost dog in the neighborhood always seems to find my house. I’m quite certain the all the dogs in the Dog Universe talk to each other, and one must have spread the word about me years ago.
“That bitch down the street? The one with the red car? Sucker. Yep, go sit in front of her house and look sad. Or cute. No wait, both. Both is better. You’ll have a home in no time at all.”
I come home from picking up the bed, and as we drive up to my house, I see my neighbor looking over the fence into my backyard.
I ask my dad, “Now what?” because all the fucking animals in this town seem to like my backyard. Including my neighbor’s chickens. [Yes, my neighbor has chickens. And no, I don’t think it’s legal, but I love chickens so I don’t give a flying fuck. Until they get in my backyard and Rainbow, my gay dog, kills one of them and I have to chase his ass down while he is prancing around, all proud and shit, to try and pry the dead bird out of his mouth and then skulk over to the neighbor’s house in shame because Killer over here has once again mauled one of his stupid fucking chickens that cannot seem to learn that dog + chickens is not a pleasant outcome. Chickens are stupid.]
I digress. Anyway, I get out and run around to ask her what is wrong (I’m thinking possum, skunk or wayward cat, but once I found a dead green parrot. Oh yeah, and the pigeons. My chicken-loving neighbor also has pigeons. I’ll bet the non-BF won’t be driving the new car and parking it in front of my house. I get a LOT of bird shit.) According to Neighbor, two kittens ran into my backyard.
Jesus H. Christ, just what I fucking need! After the hour of pleasantry with my mom and dad (unloading a mattress and box springs with them is no fun, but hey, I gave my dad a six pack and thanked him, even though I got yelled at more than I did my entire eighth grade year), I found the cute little bastard hiding behind a bucket of shit my dad really needs to get out of my goddamned backyard. Neighbor helped me take him to the local shelter, where I was assured one staff member would find it a home.
While we were trying to figure out what to do with the kitty, however, Rainbow and Blindie were going bat-shit crazy trying to get at the cat. Rainbow tried to put its head in his mouth, which worries me because next week, I get the foster. [By the way, a friend suggested I call her Foster. I’m leaning more towards Hey Baby Girl.] Cute Little Bastard Kitty was clawing my arms and Rainbow was clawing my legs. I ended up looking like a meth head who needed a fix.
Now that all of that drama is over with, I’m back at home and crazy-as-fuck Rainbow won’t stop looking for that kitten. He ran around sniffing everything, went outside where the kitty was hiding and basically acted like a total idiot until I finally used the Momma Voice to shame him back into the house. He is sleeping next to me right now and all is peaceful. I really should buy that damned dog a treadmill with a fake cat on the end of it so he can wear himself out. My life would be so much easier.
Is 2:30 in the afternoon too early to start drinking?
P.S. Thanks for the Costco chicken, Mom and Dad. And the limes.