Time

 Time goes by weirdly in sobriety. It has weight and density. It takes up space and energy. It feels like a responsibility and some days it’s great. Others, it’s fucking awful.

I just went through a pretty intense training at work and I’m still a bit disoriented from the whole thing. Part 1 was a few months ago and was amazing. I was able to connect different parts of things that were in my brain for better understanding and I felt strange for a week. Part two was kinda a wash, more just practice.

I don't know how to relax. I started drinking when I was 13, on and off until college. Then it was party hard one night, rest the next for a bit. Weekends were long and grueling, but so many laughs with friends. I don't remember where I was some nights. It's all kinda a blur.

I kept drinking a lot when I was around family functions, holidays, events, weddings, funerals, and fuck, towards the end there were few times when I wasn't heavily drinking. I remember having some beers before going to a church event. That was awkward as fuck but I kept thinking I should go out to the car to drink more to make it less awkward. 

I'm at this weird point now where I'm happy with how I feel physically, mentally, emotionally. I just feel a bit distant. Like I'm not "fun." I don't know how to have fun. I catch myself sometimes almost having fun but then the wind goes out of the sails and I'm kinda just back down again. 

This training was the same way. I felt like I found my calling, like it meant something. But then part two happened and I was less so. It felt like fucking work. It felt like it didn't make sense anymore. I felt like I was back not knowing what I'm doing. Ugh. Time is going so slowly. 

soft ears, tail wags, broken heart

 I had to put my dog down. She was 13 years old and the best dog I could imagine. 

Watching a dog get old is a sneaky thing. She would follow me around and play as hard as she used to, but as time went on she was around less and less, sleeping a little bit longer or lingering on the couch when I half heartedly offered a walk. She went deaf so she sometimes didn't meet me at the door when I got home, but I always knew when she saw me, she would jump around and dance. 
My preschooler always made a point to pet her or miss her dog food bowl and cover the floor when feeding her. She lost bladder control and he would help me make sure she was on her bed or pee pads when she laid down. I still remember her last walk where she reluctantly but obediently followed him around.

I hate how the harder you love something, the more it hurts to lose it. 

She loaded up in the car with a wag and I'm not sure if she knew and she was just ready to go or if she really just liked car rides. I told her she was a good dog, the best dog. She stuck her head out the window. I cried. 

The decision is always second guessed. I don't know why dogs live so much longer than different parts of their body can function. She was deaf and her kidneys were shutting down, but still I thought maybe I should wait a little longer. I'm not sure for what. Maybe just to not have to say goodbye or have these feelings like -what if- and -I should have- that linger around any decision with such a finality as death. 

My preschooler still won't talk about her. I don't think I've cried this much in a long time. Something about the intersection of post partum hormones, losing my best friend, and having to return to work is really making me feel like I'm in emotional freefall. I can't stop crying and crying. I feel like I'm sliding backwards down a muddy slope, trying to catch my footing but falling as I claw my way forward.

I almost followed her pawprints in the snow from the last time she wandered out of the yard, down the block, and down the hill past the neighborhood. I don't know what I was looking for, maybe clinging to a little part of her odd decision making or what she wanted to do or maybe looking for clues about what shut down her kidneys so that I can be mad at something in particular like the final clue that would make me feel better as I swear vengeance against some concrete enemy. I drove to where the pawprints became untraceable and cried some more. And today as the snow pummels down, her iced up pawprints are slowly becoming erased by the fresh snow. And I cried. 

I thought taking her in while I was on leave would be easier. Like I had all this free time to clean the carpets and set things straight, but now all my free time is just absorbed in sad remembrances and second guessing myself. 

There's something about the dogs I've had that mark different times in my life based on the decades that I had them during. I had my teenage through 20s dog; the dappy but loveable floppy eared friend who listened to all my different heartbreaks through the years, lived through the college years and couch surfing after, the apartment fire, breakups and break ins and break downs in crappy cars. Then there was this dog, the last 20s through the almost 40 when I thought I would have a farm, trained her to herd sheep, bravely took on an attack pig, traveled through harvest season after harvest season, went on camping trips, played in the ocean, and took on my kids as though they were the most important thing in her pack. When I went into labor I couldn't find her anywhere in the middle of the night, but come to find her cuddled next to the bed of my sleeping kid. She could sense when you needed cheered up and she always seemed like she was trying to guess what would make you happy. We got rid on the sheep as she got older and she didn't mind. I left my farm job, moved to an apartment, stopped training foster dogs, got a house, and she came along for the ride. 

Time slows us all  down. Family grows, changes, branches die. Our saturday morning routine changed so much through the years. She used to sneak into bed in the morning and sneak out just as quickly if she was discovered and given attention. She was a working dog through and through. I hope she didn't hurt or suffer. I wonder how long I will hurt me to miss her.