Sadie

Sit, children, and I'll tell you of the time I was a dog owner for three days.

My last essay mentioned my excitement in becoming a dog owner.  I come to you today as a former dog owner.  

My last picture: Sadie, as happy as ever, on our car trip to her new home.

It wasn't Sadie.  She was wonderful in those few days she was with me; in fact she was a better dog than most humans deserve and a tribute to dogs as a species. She was loving and gentle and happy: always happy.  She could bust out of any enclosure, but instead of chewing on the furniture or playing with the knives after doing so, she would lie on her spot on the couch and wait for me to get home.  I wish anything in this world gave me the joy she experienced from a simple belly rub.  We could walk four miles and instead of crashing when we got home she'd thrash her stuffed elephant with reckless abandon. When she was excited to see you her tail would break the sound barrier and when she disagreed with your decision her "side-eye" would make a teenager proud.  

It wasn't my facilities.  True, my house was far too small for a 48lb bundle of high energy, and my lack of a fenced-in yard made both exercise and going potty more labor intensive than it should have been.  Those were challenges, but challenges that time and love could overcome.

It was me.  It didn't take me long to learn that Sadie deserved far better than I could give her.  I'd never had a dog, and even growing up we'd never had an inside dog.  I had been caught up in the "idea" of a dog, and this had separated me from the "reality" of being a dog owner.  Sadie, as wonderful as she was, soon became a chore.  I wasn't ready to be the center of another being's world.  I wasn't ready to change everything in my life so that she could be happy and healthy in hers. I was a great owner those three days out of obligation, not out of love.  Such obligation is the road to resentment.   Sadie was far too good of a dog to be resented; I had to give her up.  

Sadie and I made our final 90 mile drive yesterday, and as befits her character, she was an angel.  You can see photo evidence above: this ball of energy was crammed into a passenger seat and her "luggage" meant there was no room for her to move.  She smiled the whole trip, sitting up to see the sights, or lying down with her head on my right arm like a pillow. Sadie is now at her (human) maternal grandparents, long-time dog owners, in a house three times as big as mine.  She's now lord and protector of a fenced-in yard the size of a football field.  

You can argue that I did the mature thing, realizing even after a short period of time that dog ownership wasn't right for me.  You can argue that I did the immature thing, giving up so easily.  This much I know: I learned a great deal about myself in those three days, and I experienced a slice of life with a tremendous canine.  I will miss Sadie for sure, but she's happy, in a wonderful home with wonderful people, and when I got home last night I felt no regret, only relief.