- B
It was the summer of 2012 and I was about to make the best mistake of my life. I was 21 (young), drowning in my first real heart break ((no longer) in love), and certain - in the way only twenty somethings can be - that I needed a puppy (stupid).
Hours on petfinder.com would lead me to a pet shelter in SC where a black, short-haired, squat-nosed, floppy, sweet, social, puddle of a puppy would quickly begin winning over my heart. He would have won over anyone's heart - alert, chocolate-brown eyes and a habit of falling asleep belly up in your lap, little puppy snores too, just for effect.
There was one other puppy at the shelter too, though. She was fluffy and brown - and scared out of her skin of me. She would not look at me, she actually fled from my gaze, and when I finally managed to scoop her up, she shook in my arms. I did not want her. She apparently did not want me. I released her and she bolted. Jet climbed clumsily back into my lap for nap round two.
I had a choice. Seemingly, an obvious one. And yet, as Jet snored and I stared at the other puppy from across the pen, her uneven ears pinned back in terror against her head - it occurred to me, as it already had, that Jet would have won over anyone's heart. He was guaranteed passage from this place. I could not convince myself of the same for the brown fluff quaking in the corner. And my young, broken heart, my sucker's heart, could not leave her there.
She threw up in my lap on the way home. We got a speeding ticket. We began our great adventure.
She spent the summer hiding from the world using my parent's furniture as cover. First, under the ottomans and beds with her tiny puppy body. Next, when her sprint towards her 70 lbs full grown weight surpassed her "no heavier than 40 lbs guarantee,” behind couches and shelves. Slowly, we convinced her to trust us. Slowly, we convinced her that we were not like the other people she had already encountered in her young life. Slowly, steadily, confidently, I fell in love and for good this time.
I called her Luna after Luna Lovegood in hopes that, much like her name's sake, she would grow out of her weirdness and into her own. It sort of worked - she grew into her own and into her own weirdness. After spending my senior year of college in Wilmington with the village it was proving she needed the care of (shout out to my patient parents and the ever generous Skrabals, to Abby), Luna and I moved into our first house in Chapel Hill. She would become my constant companion, my forever adventure partner.
In our cozy sublet on Dawes St, in the loving presence of our first human and doggy roommates (shoutout to Denise and Sandy), Luna and I would discover that being alone was something she simply could not tolerate. Our first few days at Dawes saw a new battle - Luna v. House. In the hours that I spent at work that coincided with both Denise and Sandy's absence, Luna would throw herself at our new home in an effort to escape, to get out, to not be alone. Window sills and sashes, door frames and trims were no match for her sharp teeth, powerful jaw, and ever mounting anxiety. Our new home splintered and as the shock and confusion wore off, I began to panic.
Over the next four years, Luna's separation anxiety would leave its mark on another home in Chapel Hill, two more in Michigan, and finally a fifth in Durham. She would flee through a first floor window, and then throw herself out of a second story one. She would escape every crate that attempted to hold her, she would injure herself more than once in the process. She would unlatch locked windows with her teeth, she would jump fences. She would have animal control called on her, she would test the patience and never ending kindness of my roommates and neighbors (shoutout to Jamie and Emily, Kacey, Amanda, and Alice, Kate and Rachel, Ben and Molly, Libba and Katie, to Bill).
In Michigan, my financial situation was such that I could afford to put a band aid on the problem - that is to say, I could take her to doggy daycare everyday while I was at work, I could board her on nights I wanted to go out with friends, I could pay sitters to watch her while I ran to the grocery or the ACE Hardware. I could afford not to be a (total) prisoner in my home.
After moving back to take a job at a nonprofit in NC, that freedom became a luxury that was no longer financially feasible. We tried everything - crate training, miles and miles of daily walks, dog friends for temporary company, obedience training, but nothing stuck (shoutout to Joop and Sky, Jen, to Eenes). I fell to pieces. I saw no way forward that allowed for me to coexist peacefully and sustainably with my best friend, my one true and steady constant, my giver of unconditional love.
In a last stich effort to keep Luna in my life, to keep the promise that I made to her all those years ago when I carried her shaking out of that shelter in SC, I called upon the immeasurable generosity and kindness of my cousin and his husband (shoutout to Dylan and Mike). They agreed to take Luna into their new home in CO so that she might live with them and their pups while I figured things out. Much to all of our disappointment, the addition of doggy friends and fresh CO air did not provide the miracle cure we were hoping for and Luna is coming back to NC.
Taking Luna out to CO was my plan of last resort, it was my worst case scenario, it was my plan Z. So I find myself again, with a choice. To some, it might seem an obvious one. I can give up this dog I promised to keep safe, to love, to protect. I can give up my best friend, my partner in crime, the steadiness in my foundation.
Or I can train her - or rather, I can seek professional help to have her trained, to have her reprogrammed and regrounded, rewired into understanding that being alone is something she is capable of doing. And so here I am, trying to send Luna to NC's own K9 coach's board and train program for dogs with behavior disorders.
Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this narrative - I know it was a long one. Any little bit will go a long way at keeping us together, and I speak for both of us when I say that that gift is something we do not know how to even begin expressing gratitude for.
Hours on petfinder.com would lead me to a pet shelter in SC where a black, short-haired, squat-nosed, floppy, sweet, social, puddle of a puppy would quickly begin winning over my heart. He would have won over anyone's heart - alert, chocolate-brown eyes and a habit of falling asleep belly up in your lap, little puppy snores too, just for effect.
There was one other puppy at the shelter too, though. She was fluffy and brown - and scared out of her skin of me. She would not look at me, she actually fled from my gaze, and when I finally managed to scoop her up, she shook in my arms. I did not want her. She apparently did not want me. I released her and she bolted. Jet climbed clumsily back into my lap for nap round two.
I had a choice. Seemingly, an obvious one. And yet, as Jet snored and I stared at the other puppy from across the pen, her uneven ears pinned back in terror against her head - it occurred to me, as it already had, that Jet would have won over anyone's heart. He was guaranteed passage from this place. I could not convince myself of the same for the brown fluff quaking in the corner. And my young, broken heart, my sucker's heart, could not leave her there.
She threw up in my lap on the way home. We got a speeding ticket. We began our great adventure.
She spent the summer hiding from the world using my parent's furniture as cover. First, under the ottomans and beds with her tiny puppy body. Next, when her sprint towards her 70 lbs full grown weight surpassed her "no heavier than 40 lbs guarantee,” behind couches and shelves. Slowly, we convinced her to trust us. Slowly, we convinced her that we were not like the other people she had already encountered in her young life. Slowly, steadily, confidently, I fell in love and for good this time.
I called her Luna after Luna Lovegood in hopes that, much like her name's sake, she would grow out of her weirdness and into her own. It sort of worked - she grew into her own and into her own weirdness. After spending my senior year of college in Wilmington with the village it was proving she needed the care of (shout out to my patient parents and the ever generous Skrabals, to Abby), Luna and I moved into our first house in Chapel Hill. She would become my constant companion, my forever adventure partner.
In our cozy sublet on Dawes St, in the loving presence of our first human and doggy roommates (shoutout to Denise and Sandy), Luna and I would discover that being alone was something she simply could not tolerate. Our first few days at Dawes saw a new battle - Luna v. House. In the hours that I spent at work that coincided with both Denise and Sandy's absence, Luna would throw herself at our new home in an effort to escape, to get out, to not be alone. Window sills and sashes, door frames and trims were no match for her sharp teeth, powerful jaw, and ever mounting anxiety. Our new home splintered and as the shock and confusion wore off, I began to panic.
Over the next four years, Luna's separation anxiety would leave its mark on another home in Chapel Hill, two more in Michigan, and finally a fifth in Durham. She would flee through a first floor window, and then throw herself out of a second story one. She would escape every crate that attempted to hold her, she would injure herself more than once in the process. She would unlatch locked windows with her teeth, she would jump fences. She would have animal control called on her, she would test the patience and never ending kindness of my roommates and neighbors (shoutout to Jamie and Emily, Kacey, Amanda, and Alice, Kate and Rachel, Ben and Molly, Libba and Katie, to Bill).
In Michigan, my financial situation was such that I could afford to put a band aid on the problem - that is to say, I could take her to doggy daycare everyday while I was at work, I could board her on nights I wanted to go out with friends, I could pay sitters to watch her while I ran to the grocery or the ACE Hardware. I could afford not to be a (total) prisoner in my home.
After moving back to take a job at a nonprofit in NC, that freedom became a luxury that was no longer financially feasible. We tried everything - crate training, miles and miles of daily walks, dog friends for temporary company, obedience training, but nothing stuck (shoutout to Joop and Sky, Jen, to Eenes). I fell to pieces. I saw no way forward that allowed for me to coexist peacefully and sustainably with my best friend, my one true and steady constant, my giver of unconditional love.
In a last stich effort to keep Luna in my life, to keep the promise that I made to her all those years ago when I carried her shaking out of that shelter in SC, I called upon the immeasurable generosity and kindness of my cousin and his husband (shoutout to Dylan and Mike). They agreed to take Luna into their new home in CO so that she might live with them and their pups while I figured things out. Much to all of our disappointment, the addition of doggy friends and fresh CO air did not provide the miracle cure we were hoping for and Luna is coming back to NC.
Taking Luna out to CO was my plan of last resort, it was my worst case scenario, it was my plan Z. So I find myself again, with a choice. To some, it might seem an obvious one. I can give up this dog I promised to keep safe, to love, to protect. I can give up my best friend, my partner in crime, the steadiness in my foundation.
Or I can train her - or rather, I can seek professional help to have her trained, to have her reprogrammed and regrounded, rewired into understanding that being alone is something she is capable of doing. And so here I am, trying to send Luna to NC's own K9 coach's board and train program for dogs with behavior disorders.
Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this narrative - I know it was a long one. Any little bit will go a long way at keeping us together, and I speak for both of us when I say that that gift is something we do not know how to even begin expressing gratitude for.