Our dog died this past month. And we got engaged.
There have been a lot of emotions. And I think above all, we've become each other's ultimate support partner is grieving the loss of our best bud. Nick and I haven't started planning a wedding. We're not looking at venues. Instead, we've been looking at puppies online, wondering if maybe now is the time to try to pick up our broken pieces.
I borrowed a dog from the humane society this week. A skinny little terrier/chihuahua mix who has been surrendered with five other dogs. They'd been living in a car with their owner who actually owned ten dogs. He was very skinny. But we brought him home. We went to the pet store together, we brought out all our old doggie stuff, played games with him, gave him a bath, and that night he slept in bed with me and our cat.
And I just couldn't do it. For no particular reason. He just wasn't Pip, and he was never going to be, despite how sweet and darling and attached he was. I took him back to the humane society, and I cried when I told them I didn't think I was the right owner for him. They reassured me that "that's okay! That's why we do the home trials! He'll find a good home!" But I still felt like I was losing another dog all over again. Kicking myself for trying to force this poor dog into my Pip-shaped hole to stop the bleeding. Hating how the dog knew I was bringing him back, that I didn't want him and he'd never see me again.
I don't think I've ever felt more of a desire for heaven to be real. Curled up on my yoga mat one night, I asked God and the Universe through desperate tears to be reassured that I'll see the damn dog again. Because this world is truly the loneliest place, and I need to have hope that things will be different and things won't suck so much, even if I have to wait my whole life for it.
