Not Enough

It feels like I'm stuck in a whirlpool, now. See, I figured I'd keep this "drifting" theme, because it works so well for me. As of late, though, I've had problems I don't have the ability to run away from. I can't bullshit myself out of them, I can't do anything, really. Well, I suppose I could just face life.

I tried to bring my dog to the animal shelter, one morning. I drove her down there, and when I parked in their lot, I burst into tears. She didn't know what was going on, obviously. She wagged her tail as she licked the tears from my face. I almost did it. I walked to the door to the office, and was saved. They didn't open till 11am, which is when I needed to be at work.

Since then I've been avoiding it a second time. I've already had to muster up the courage to do it once, why should I have to do it again? Why do I have to do it alone? I love that dog, because that dog loves me like I'm more than I am. No matter how badly I behave, or how mean I get, or how stupid I can be, she loves me with a ferocity and loyalty that I don't even think I can understand. I even admire that in her- which, I know, sounds weird, since we're talking about a dog, but why not? Even animals can have traits we ourselves wished we possessed.

How am I supposed to sleep at night, knowing she's not going to be laying down next to me? Curled up against my legs, or pushing me into the wall. What about all the memories? The first moment I saw her, outside Chris McKee's house, when she was just a puppy, playing with her brothers and sisters. The moment I knew, "That's my dog." The time she locked me and Sam out of my grandma's car, or when we went to Colorado Creek and she really bonded to me. Like, wouldn't let me out of her sight kind of thing.

So many memories, and she's still got so much time left, and I have to give it all up? I know it's not fair, to anyone, really. She's still a puppy, for all it matters. She needs someone who has the time and energy to play with her, and pay undivided attention to her. Someone who can train her properly, so she won't chew on the... well, anything, really.

It's not fair to Emily, who can really only be comfortable in her own house in her room. Who's lost her favorite headband, and a couple pairs of shoes to my little monster. Who can't really touch, or play with, or hold a dog, yet loves them, anyway. Who has to put up with the smell in the house, the hair on the furniture, and the mess we always come home to. Always.

And maybe it's not fair to me. Because I don't have the time to train her right. Or the know-how. I don't have the money to live on my own, and take care of such a needy pet. I don't have the competence. I don't have the resolve. I really don't have much, except for a love of that dog.

Sadly, sometimes, that just isn't enough.