Well, I did it. Eighteen years without a dog, and this weekend I brought one home. Toby is a Lhasa Apso/Pomeranian mix, and he’s three years old.
What possessed me to make such a huge decision all of a sudden? Well, I’d been missing my ex’s Lhasa something awful, and every place I looked there seemed to be signs – like the flyer in my apartment building lobby offering walking/babysitting services in-house. Not to mention the continuous nagging from my friend Jason to bite the bullet and bring home the love (this is ultimately his fault). But, he was right.
Remember the trip to Haiti? The one that I went on to kickstart my compassion? It worked, and my heart’s been opening up in weird and wonderful ways since. This is just part of that journey. Admittedly, the reason I’ve not gotten a dog before this is because I feared the eventual loss. Is that any way to live? For a risk taker, no less? No, it most certainly is not.
So, here I sit on the sofa writing alongside my new partner. We’re both adjusting. He’s feeling blue, because he misses his previous home. I’m feeling melancholy, because he reminds me of my ex’s dog. In the midst of our personal angsts, we’re ironing out the details of our new committed relationship and becoming increasingly more attached. Soon he’ll figure out that I’m never going anywhere, and soon we’ll be inseparable.
A new chapter (writers love new chapters), and he’ll get to hear a lot of those while I read out loud to him during edits. Now if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our W-A-L-K.