Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
Last night I found myself falling into an old habit, and I’m wondering what it means. It isn’t really a bad or good habit, but indulging it can have long-term repercussions.
I was finishing up some computer work for school and I thought, “I’ll just see what animals are up for adoption at the local humane society.” My elderly chihuahua snuggled into my leg and mumbled. My husband snored with the cat on the couch. No one needed to know what I was up to. Before I met my husband, I was an animal shopper. I checked the humane society adoption pages the way other people use Tinder. As I got older and the prospect of marrying and having children dimmed, I indulged my deep love of animals in my classroom and my home. I had a rabbit & a snake (never in the same cage), a tiny hedgehog, a sweet bearded dragon named Fred; a mean cat only loved by me, a dear old hunting dog afraid of loud noises, and my sweet and trembly chihuahua. I am a person both selfish and nurturing, and taking care of pets satisfy urges in both areas. Dogs, especially, fill that spot in some of us that needs a little extra attention and love. Their devotion, their excitement at seeing us every damn time, briefly convinces us we’re just a little more special than the rest of humanity, even when our dog shows the same excitement over a dead squirrel. By the time my husband came into my life I had two dogs and space in my heart for a cat because my old meanie cat passed away. N, however, is not an animal person. He would never have a pet on his own. He is a man of activity and intellect. He’d rather be out hiking and exploring or reading and writing than sitting with a dog on his lap and a book in hand. Dogs make him sneeze and he finds pet fur annoying. He is also a man of acceptance, and he knew my pets were part of the package. When I came home from work one day and saw him walking my dogs, I knew it was meant to be. He got me a cat for Valentine’s Day one year. She has six-toes on each foot and no teeth, and she’s perfect. He takes our old chihuahua on short walks ‘to keep her joints loose.’ I don’t know what’s making me pet shop now. I have zero intention of getting us a pet. OK, I’ve considered a house rabbit or a parakeet, but we’re too busy to care for more pets and it would be very upsetting to the two old girls we have. My kids keep talking about wanting a puppy or a kitten one day, and I promise them we will get one when our pets go to the great pet beyond, while my husband sighs and silently agrees. I think. I am remembering when it was only the dogs, cat and I. My life was a little lonely and much simpler. I had a lot of friends but no one to really take care of. The dogs and I would walk for hours on the weekend, and one or two times a day every weekday. They liked to nap and cuddle, to eat horrifying things and vomit them up, but they didn’t put demands on my time like the ones I have now, precious young demands who hate napping and enjoy cuddling and terrify me when they vomit. I also want to share the experience of getting a new pet with my kids. I want them to feel how it is similar to falling in love, but without the horrible rejection and breakups that so often come with love. I want them to experience the way you can’t wait to get home to see your new pet, to learn what each head cock and ear flick means, to sit together and watch the world go by or explore new trails. I want them to learn the way you think about them even when you’re away from them. There is no exploring with my dog now. She is so arthritic she can barely make it to the end of the block, and we often end up carrying her more than she walks. The cat is still spry but she’s no kitten. And yet, these are my girls. They’ve been with us, with me, through huge life changes, and they’re still here, purring on my head at night, snuggling into my leg when I grade papers, watching my children play in the backyard. I'm in no hurry to see them go. I’ll continue to pet shop the same way I look at houses from time to time. It fuels a hopeful fantasy of a life yet to come. Then, I’ll close my computer and pet my dog’s balding white head before I mix the cat her nightly canned food soup, glad for the companions who have accompanied me into this next phase of my life.
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