Sometimes, I think of getting rid of Bela.
You read that right, and I know that 'it's wrong'...but... sometimes I think of getting rid of her. I have nowhere to send her, no one to ship her off to and no plan in place, but it does cross my mind.
When I want to stay out all night and not worry about how many hours have passed since I left, I think about it. When I want to take a weekend trip and I have to ask friends - or strangers - to help, I think of it. When a friend asks if I want to live with her in Italy, I think of it. (Alot alot alot.)
In this time of transition and change, from one state line to the next, I have thought about it more than usual. I haven't provided her a white-picket fence, two-story home with a dog entrance. She's yet to have a yard of her own. I've given her little more than a small apartment and park trips.
I've been trying to map the course of my life. My life has been but a dance of longing. I love to land; I love to leave. I like to enter and exit other's lives, my own intricate weave.
I tend to believe things happen *for a reason*, so I question Bela's permanent place in my life. Maybe it's so that I could grasp the concept of solidity; of a constant anchor of sorts. I don't really feel like I have a home, I suppose - a place where I belong. Maybe it was because I needed to learn to ask for help. Because I fucking hate to ask for help. I am obsessed with being self-sufficient, not needing anyone for anything. But I have been forced to ask favors left and right, and sometimes straight-up beg someone to help me out...(because her bladder has a timeline and it doesn't always line up with mine.)
Last month in a thrift store, I plunked down money I likely shouldn't have for 2 vintage hats. Waiting for the native Swiss shopowner to process the payment, I noticed 2 small gray poodles. A 'toy' and a 'teacup' - 3 and 7 pounds. They were in a bag below the register. There isn't anywhere the woman can't go with bagdogs -- they're allowed to fly, shop and even eat in restaurants, as long as their extremities remain inside the sack. I sat back, thinking how easy her life must be with these little rats. Then she mentioned she had 5 dogs in total (and some cats), her favorite being a German Shepherd. She verbally drew me a family tree, when they'd come along and then departed this world. I drew a breath in, and stammered out a "Wow". She could probably hear me thinking about the work, the money, the house! And so she responded to my thought -- by throwing her chin way up in the air -- and then -- (as if she could see inside my fickle soul) -- stated to the universe:
"AND I KEEP THEM TIL THEY DIE!!
I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE THAT GET RID OF PETS!!
[she paused for effect]
NOOOOO. WAYYY!!!!!"
Footnote:
I have often compared my dog to a [human] child, and countered a friend's child-centered story with one about her. Sometimes it just doesn't seem like an entirely different ballgame... But I'm going to use this moment here to really step back and admit -- well , yes -- yes of course -- I know that it is. Because while you, parents, never ever think about 'getting rid' of your kids -- I think about getting rid of Bela. I don't intend to and don't want to. BUT -- IF ANYONE -- AND I MEAN ANYONE -- wants to watch her so that I can live abroad for a short time, please let me know. :)
