Digging Holes

Gilligan and Skipper dug an amazing hole today. I thought they were too old to have this type of impact, but I'm very impressed. I think they started digging this particular hole when they were puppies and over time I thought it would stop or slow down, but nope, they just dig and dig. It's deep too --- they aren't very big dogs, but they sure can dig. The current hole is about 6’ deep, … and it’s shaped like my heart.

I want ‘em back. I want their stinky breath and I want to complain about Skipper pooping near my bed. I want to be mad at Gilligan for digging up and eating our carrots.

I want to pet.

I want to feel bad again for leaving them at grandma’s while we went away and I want to stop feeling bad for pretending like I didn’t care about them. I want their hair in the vacuum and other places I complained about it being—like in my underwear which is just as weird to me as it is to you.

            I don’t want this hurt. I don’t want to care this much. I don’t want my kids to hurt. I don’t want them to be mad at me for doing it. Were the last 15 years’ worth this? Most of you pet owners will say yes—because you’re supposed to, right? I call bullshit… This hurts far worse than those 15 years were of joy. I understand your statement—you’re saying they brought so much joy and happiness to your family, taught your children to love and respect animals and how to care for another thing. Not worth it, they have DVDs for that stuff. Not getting another dog.

            I’m in the hole now. I need to climb out and be a man. But when do I get to not be this guy? When my friends rely on me for so much, when do I get to rely on them and not be that guy? When my Dad killed himself, I was the guy to clean it up. When do I get to not be that guy? I know the answer is never, but I’m in this hole, you see, and my heart really hurts.

            I’m not asking for a reach out, I’m just explaining and blubbering how I feel. I’ve determined that as a writer, this is how I get to not be that guy. I get to express in words and release some of the pain and guilt—even now, I’ve stopped crying. Mostly.

            I know they’ll still be working on that hole for a little while. I just need to make sure that they don’t create any more holes my kids can fall into. We’ll move on, quickly, and try to remember some of that joy. But it’s good for children to experience this pain, said the masochist… No, it’s good for their character to go through this experience so they can potentially deal better with a more serious loss, like… I can’t even write it.

            They aren’t in a better place. Unless that place is here, alive, healthy, and greeting me at the door again like I greet a table of cakes. They’re dead. They’re gone and I’m letting them go. We gave them a great life when we took them in at 3 months old, 15 years ago. They, in return, gave us all the things pets give people, no need to list all that crap here.

Night-night, puppies.

In letting them go, I’m going to fill in that hole with more family memories, and of course more heartache when it comes along, as it does in life. Don’t tell me everything will be ok, or that this too will pass. If you want to help me, go pet your pet and kiss him/her between the eyes like I did Skipper, or the top of his/her head like I did Gilligan for me. Appreciate the time they have.

            I’ll let you know when they stop digging.