Tuesday, August 14
So remember that time we declared NEVER AGAIN on Bulldogs?
May was a very rough month for us. Sweet Pea's loss was Murphy's Law's most douchey thing ever. Seriously, Murph, you pull that stunt. You're an asshole. You kill off my FREAKING DOG less than two weeks from Mr. Wookie's freakin' boat date?? I haven't lost a pet since I was 14, and even then - it was Mama Ging's cat from right after she and the Sheriff hitched back in 1675, so I never really knew the pain of what it's like to lose your own fur-baby.
Losing a pet is fucking hard.
But time heals all wounds. Time allows us to reflect on Damn, bitch has a good life with us. When Mr. Wookie was away on business, she was my co-pilot on the other side of the bed. And should Mr. Wookie only be back for a few nights....well then she got her spot right in the middle. Nevermind if she accidentally flail kicked him in the nuts, which is hilarious by the way.
In the stinging aftermath of our loss, we knew there could never be another love like Sweet Pea. She was our first, she'll be our favorite. She was a snatchy ol' broad who was more like her mother than I ever knew. Don't like people? Who cares, me neither. Don't like other dogs? Me neither, they're not nearly as cute as you, baby girl. And just like that, she was my "baby girl." While I didn't bloat over 9 months and wreck my vagina to have her, I still poured my everlasting love (and money) into spoiling the shit outta her.
But time heals all wounds. I see her pictures and I no longer have the bitterness of a dog gone too soon. Instead, I have the incredible memories of making our home her last home. Our home, our love, our life...was hers. And she couldn't have fit more perfectly. The Junior Officers when they came over would shower her with affection (until she chased the beer pong balls). When it was just one of my lady friends, bitch would curl up on the sofa with me while I drink wine and we watch Say Yes to the Dress (I love my Friday night television!).
Now life is quieter. Life has less walks. Life has unopened bags of treats given to other families in the squadron with dogs. Life has three-week used dog bed in the garage that we can't dare part with. Life has her collar hanging on the key rack as a constant reminder of her place in our family. Life still has a half-bag of food that's waiting for a donation place to accept (I just need to reach out). And life has a re-arranged front room since my heart broke every time I saw the empty floor space where her bed, blanket, toys, slobber, paw prints, and green cloud of ass-gas would linger.
But now life has a new discussion. Life has re-emerged in the conversation of a future dog and how Mr. Wookie and I just can't let go of the breed. I'll be honest - his words caught me off-guard at first. But in reality they shouldn't have. After a month without her, we started to ease back into the future of us. What will we own next? We took every "What dog breed is right for you?" quiz one after the other, and our results clashed every time. He wants a Mastiff, I love Corgis, he'd like a bloodhound, I think wire-hair large terriers are cute, he'd punt a chihuahuah (so would I), and I think Bull Terriers are adorable with their weird-shaped snouts.
It's a good thing we've decided to wait until after deployment to bring another dog into our family, because we'd be those nightmare people with two dogs (a "his" and "hers"). No. We don't want that. We want an "ours."
But Friday night brought words that stung my heart...in a good way. Mr. Wookie's used the time on the boat to reflect about what he misses (hopefully me), what he wants out of life, and where he wants to go next.
"I want another Bulldog."
Is he serious? No way? Are you sure? Are we ready for another (potential) money pit?
Without flinching, "I'm in." They say shot-gun reactions are from the heart.