He doesn’t understand, and that is the worst part. He is confused, but not yet hurt. He cannot use words. He expresses himself in other ways. He is constantly under my feet or next to me. He holds a look of concern. He is beginning to learn. He is beginning to panic. He sees all my things being packed. He knows. He knows I have to go. I explain it to him rationally, expressing my far fetched dreams. But he has no concept of what I want to be. I am perfect the way he sees me. I am loyal and dependable. I am a best friend he has grown to love. I am the holder of adventures and the bringer of treats. I have come to be known as Auntie. I always lay down a blanket for him in my back seat. I kiss him goodnight every time he goes to sleep. He has become a part of my routine. He has become a part of me. And I cannot begin to express my pain as I prepare to leave. I cannot tell him that this is what’s best for me. Since all he will see is an act of disappearing. He will notice when I’m not longer writing in the mornings. He will miss greeting me after work. He will search for me and there will be no sign, nothing. But he will continue searching. It will take a few days, or a few months, or maybe he will never stop. Because he blindly loves me. He will not understand when I am only visiting. He will continue hoping. He will listen for my car. He will wait for my return. He will never learn. He can’t understand. This is a concept outside of his grasp. Since his world once existed with me and now I am disappearing. He has no choice. He cannot use his voice. His eyes cry out with pain. I whisper his name and pull him in close. I am not ready to lose what I love most. I cannot move on when I look in his eyes. I cannot claim that I am strong when I hold him for long. I cannot begin to convey the love the I have felt for him since the first day we became roommates. Because I cannot begin to understand why I would do this. I cannot come up with a valid reason for leaving him. I cannot picture me surviving without my best friend. I cannot explain my pain as I prepare to leave him. Since nothing I say will change the reality we both have to face, where I am gone and he is in the same place. A place where he is loved and cared for. A place where I know he’s comfortable. A place that I was once a part of. A place where I learned to love.
Today was the day he made her see that she had changed — for the better or worse was still to be determined, but she had indeed changed. There was a stark difference between the way she spent her time these days. She was out of the house constantly, would return home exhausted and smoke herself to sleep in order to wake up and do it all over again. She was raising her voice more often and visibly frustrated with whatever she experienced while she was away from home. She was packing suitcases and unpacking them again just to allow them to sit on her floor for a week and be packed up again. She was always tired yet always moving and she never seemed to stop and play fetch anymore. She was finally moving again and she had finally admitted defeat to the strain of boredom. Continue reading
The dog from his past had returned to haunt him. He never really chose the company of this forced friend and when he arrived in his life he had no choice but to accept him. He always played nice enough with the annoying little dog, and treated him like the little brother he neither had nor wanted. Continue reading
He welcomed her home in a way that no other being could, and it was the fact that he was there to greet her that made her come home at all. Continue reading
For as long as Mo had known his human, he had worn the label of delinquent. In fact that label is what drove his human to meeting his four-legged best friend in the first place. Operating under the image of a convicted criminal he struggled to find work in the already competitive job market that characterized the overflowing college town. He had grown to expect that he would be rejected as soon as he had to check the box that he had been convicted of ‘drug’ paraphernalia possession. He was not alone in his paraphernalia possession in a town that was built on prostitution and smoked weed like it was a source of life, but he was alone in being caught by the law and used as an example for punishment. He did not look like a criminal and he did not stereotypically act like one, but he had been labeled as one and he could not shake the complex that accompanied it. Continue reading
He could see her struggling to keep track of who she is and not allow her new routine to cloud her perceptions. She had spent months with him living as they pleased and not caring about the influences of the outside world. They did not care about living what was considered a normal life style and instead momentarily lived one that suited each of their needs instead. Continue reading