2 Months Out: How I Really Feel About Getting a Dog

Right now this little creature, this adorable little animal in the (I know I shouldn't do it) doggie equivalent of a baby's pink cotton onesie is curled up in her dog bed at my feet and making little dog sleeping sounds. It should fill me with such joy that I feel like my arms and legs are going to pop off and fly across the room. I should be making "WHEEEEEE!" sounds every few minutes and clapping my hands together in little excited claps. I should be saying "I know I should let you sleep, but" (and here, insert ridiculous voice I get when I talk to animals) "I just wanna pick you UP and hold you like a BABY and nom on your FACE!"

This is what I would normally be doing. But, I'm not. And that's, well...it is what it is, as they say.

A few months back I had picked out a dog from a shelter where I volunteer from time to time. I little black beady-eyed dog with a sweet disposition and brown skinny paws. Knowing I'm in Korea to stay, I felt ready to make the leap to becoming a dog owner again. I left my sweet dog back home in the care of two good friends and wanted to have a dog of my own here. I called Gareth with the good news of finding a pup I was crazy about, and he was less than enthusiastic.

He made a 3-hour surprise drive to my apartment that night and (YEA!) I was so happy to see him but (BOO!) he delivered a passionate speech about why he thought me getting a dog was a bad idea. I was heartbroken. In the end, though, I decided that (a) I love Gareth tremendously and heard him loud and clear, but (b) I am a dog lover through and through and would resent myself if I let his opinion keep me from having that joy in my life. After a few days I told him so and went to the shelter to get her only to find an empty cage.

I was so disappointed. Like with any news, I called Gareth to tell him. I couldn't seem to help crying and he felt terrible. He felt responsible for me not getting her and felt sorry for what he had said. He assured me we could go look again, every weekend if necessary, until I find a dog I liked again. He suggested visits to a dog cafe to spend time with pups. He sent me funny dog pictures online.

In the end, I let it go since I was about to go on a trip to Thailand and would need to find a place for a dog, anyway. It was perhaps a blessing, I thought. I was also preparing to move closer to Gareth and a dog and a move might have been tricky. He spent the next few days assuring me that when I moved and got a dog, he'd be happy to share space with it.

The next less than four weeks played out as they did. No dog. Gareth is gone. "Perhaps you should think about getting a dog again," several friends mentioned. Perhaps I should.

I went to the shelter the weekend after Gareth died and met my friend Corrie to take some dogs out and walk them. It was good. I felt something vaguely reminiscent of happiness and that felt promising. I glanced in the cages at the shelter but didn't see a dog that made me feel like I had to take it home. Was my dog-loving self broken? Seemed odd to me.

A week or two later I joined a group back at the shelter to walk dogs. I noticed this little dummy:

 

and it's hard to deny that she's ridiculously cute, but I just didn't feel anything. I mean, she registered in my mind as a cute dog, but no heartstrings were pulled. I just saw her and thought "cute dog" like I see a loaf of bread and think "that's a loaf of bread."

It occurred to me that perhaps I may be afraid to let something in. To open up to joy. I played the dog-having through to its logical conclusion and thought, "I want nothing to do with watching that dog die." That's what I thought of when I looked at this little dog face.

Having posted on Facebook that I thought walking dogs and wearing a tutu would be good for the spirit, my friend Paulina (pictured on the left holding Alvin) showed up to the dog walking event with a tutu for me to don. Here I am, dog in hand, tutu on, face making a wide smile. And I feel...moderately happy. I know how I'm supposed to feel, and I try that out if for no other reason than I don't want to be the weeping girl holding a dog and wearing a tutu at a dog-walking party. As it turns out, the weeping (sobbing actually) came at the tail end of the walk, with no real particular trigger other than long periods of not crying are hard to sustain, even weeks after Gareth's death.

(Humans can't be the only ones to have fun in a tutu.)

I went back for another visit. Let me just check this dog out again. I mean, it's the most docile thing I've ever seen and would be a perfect match for me. So...let's put grief aside and try to make a decision based on good logic. Ok, I thought, I'll do it. 

The ball got rolling pretty quickly after that and by today I found myself driving back to the shelter to pick Philopena (there's a story there) up for good. I took a friend from work and met up with another friend at the shelter, both of whom pointed out that my repeating "IF SHE DIES WHEN I TAKE HER HOME, I'M GOING TO BE REALLY, REALLY PISSED" was perhaps not the most normal of thoughts when adopting a dog.

"She's so calm," one would say.
"She's perfect for you. Look how relaxed she is!" the other would say.

I'd pipe in with "SHE'S PROBABLY CALM BECAUSE SHE HAS END-STAGE CANCER AND CAN'T MOVE AND IS DYING!"

"Bridget..." they'd remind me.

Oh. I'm doing it again.

We took her to a groomer. "IF SHE'S DEAD WHEN WE GO TO PICK HER UP, I'M GOING TO BE REALLY, REALLY PISSED! I MEAN IT! I'LL BE SO MAD!"

"Bridget..."

Oops.

At lunch, while waiting for Philopena to be groomed, I felt a wave coming on. Dang it, wave. I'm trying to get my new-dog joy on and enjoy some french fries. But here came the tears. Then the sobs. And, fuck...what I really wanted to do was call Gareth and tell him I got a dog. I wanted him to see how ridiculous she is in the face and hear the funny things he'd say about her. I wanted to make plans for him to come over and see her when I got home. I wanted to skype him and hold her up to the screen. Turns out having a dog wasn't making me feel happy at all.

I got home and opened my apartment door. Philopena walked in like she'd done it dozens of times before. She sat in my kitchen as I took out some dog treats and she sat up like a circus dog as I got one out for her. I felt myself smile and felt the smile existing alongside a face that found it hard to make a smile. I was both joy and numbness.

I took her for a walk and realizing she hadn't peed (and still hasn't- it's been almost 12 hours now) thought, "Well, here we go. She's got some complication from her surgery and she can't pee and it's toxic in there and she'll die overnight."

I'm terrified to get close to this dog. I'm terrified she'll be taken away, without warning. I'm bracing myself in the future for what I couldn't have anticipated happening in the recent past.

I can't live this way, and I know it.

Something I've learned about the process of grief is it does no good for me to try to wish a part of the process away, speed a part up, or ignore the feelings of any particular stage. I've taken to just observing them as they come, acknowledging the ones that aren't rational, but letting them exist before they're ready to be released to wherever they go. I don't have to grasp on to the fear that things I love will suddenly be taken from me, but I can notice that I have this feeling (now with the dog) and just say, "Huh. That's interesting. Look at what my brain is doing" as opposed to "THAT'S RIDICULOUS, BRIDGET! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!" I trust that in time the fear will be replaced by the joy. I just have to be open to it, and I am. 

 

(I posted this picture on Facebook tonight. 

"I smell a profile pic!" my sister commented. 

Currently my profile picture is of me and Gareth. 

Perhaps soon. 

Certainly in the future. 

But for now, I'm not ready to change it. )

In the meantime I will do what I know I would have done. I will take pictures of this little dog and post them. I will snuggle with her. I will put a ridiculous outfit on her and laugh at the absurdity of it all. I will tell her "good girl!" when she finally pees and I will give her a treat when we come back inside. I will walk her.  I will let the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile when they feel like it and I will let my face sit expressionless when making a smile feels like too much. I will trust that my genuine feel-it-in-every-fiber-of-my-being joy about dogs will return in time. Gareth absolutely loved that about me and he'd want to see me enjoying this dog. I'm sure of it.

For now, Gareth, meet Philopena. Philopena, meet Gareth.

May 4, 2014