“To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” -Mary Oliver
Tino moved in with Rob over the weekend.
Months ago, it had been left it up to me (she who cried every time we left them for vacation) to choose what happened to the dogs in the split, and I opted to keep all of three because, at the time, loosing even one on top of everything else was just… way too much. Then, when the bulk of my emotional storm passed, I took a look around and thought, “My god. There are three dogs to take care of.”
It had been mostly alright, although Tino seemed to have a tougher time with it than the other two, but when he suddenly developed a weirdly clingy thing a few weeks ago, he became an unbearable little shit. I’ve been dating a musician and – What?! You guys don’t know everything! Geez. – and when he went on tour at the beginning of September, Tino lost his mind. He’s a “guy dog”, and with (another) guy suddenly not around, he seemed lost. (Is that even a thing, dogs liking certain “kinds” of humans? Because the other two are friendly to everyone, but seem to get especially lovey around ladies and little kids.)
At night he would Houdini his way into bed with me, despite the baby gates and wooden boards around the dogs’ bed to keep him in, and would cry and bark incessantly if my “fortress” was built too well, even at three in the morning. If I was sitting on the couch, he would jump up next to me and then worm his way onto my lap, insisting on having his face in my face and his body wedged against me. It was really intense, and Matty and Leeloo couldn’t get any attention for themselves. They were starting to get bummed out from the lack of sleep, too. We all were. No one was happy.
After crying for four days and talking to some of my sweetest friends, I pressed send on the email I’d written and saved, telling Rob that he was welcome to take the little guy if he still wanted to. (It was something he had expressed interest in before.)
While I would never, ever, ever give my dog over to a pound or shelter in this circumstance – and a big “fuck you” to the person that would, by the way – handing him over to a Rob, who not only loves him but was excited to have him, made this a good decision. Not that it was easy; I was mostly wrecked for the rest of the day, but then I slept all night for the first time in two weeks, and reports from Rob tell me he’s doing well and adjusting, so I feel better.
But still, I miss my littlest buddy.
This was right before Rob came to get him. Tino was standing on my laptop, and I was couldn’t stop crying long enough to take a decent photo.