I was not going to post anything about this because I generally feel the less negativity I emit out into the ether, the better... but then I realized how disingenuous it would be to omit something that I am going through for fear of seeming unpleasant.
As any of my bloggy buddies might know, I have spent the last six years being mama to the two most remarkable boxer puppies in the whole wide world, Gertie and Tonka Truck.
They have been there for me through some painful and strange experiences associated with a tumultuous time in my life. They wiggled with me happily as I moved into a lovely home and got an amazing first job out of college and they were always there to lick away my tears (mainly because they are salty and yummy, but also to comfort me) as I attempted to find my bearings living on my own, going back to school and enduring some rough break ups.
Without any question, no matter what I was going through, those beans were there, lickin' and cuddlin' their mama. They were, and are, so much more than just dogs to me. Those little wiggle-butts were the first pets I ever had, and I was shocked at how much they understood and could convey despite all that "being different species" nonsense.
And although having joint custody was hard, knowing I was never more than a week or so away from seeing those big brown eyes and darling, saggy-cheeked smiles made it all okay.
I can't describe the pure, unadulterated bliss I would feel when I would stop by to pick them up for the weekend. Those car rides with the evening sun making them look extra fuzzy and darling, the HUGE smiles they would have on their faces because they were so happy to see me again. I am tearing up thinking about how they would want to be close to me so bad, that it was often very difficult to shift, and I'd roll down the windows while we were on the main roads so they'd be distracted and I could focus, but as we got to the tiny roads by my house I would let them come back and have at me, because having boxer puppies sitting on you and licking you while driving is always better than not having boxer puppies sitting on you and licking you while driving. DUH.
And now is the part that I am still unsure of how to convey. I really don't know how to express how this ended without sounding bitter. I guess I can't. I got fucked over.
I got the text a little over a month ago, a spineless text, from the guy I bought and cared for them with, saying I was no longer welcome in their lives. As annoying as it may sound, it really was the cruelest thing anyone had ever done to me. I still have a hard time rectifying the thought process behind the only person in the world who truly understands just how precious those dogs are deciding that I have no right to see them anymore.
And that was that. I just have to accept his decision. It's so hard to accept though. Those dogs were just as much mine. Even if you look at it from a crude financial point of view, I literally purchased my sweet little boy. Not to mention pup check ups over the years, and the times they lived with me full-time.
But there is nothing I can really do except be thankful for the six years I did get to have with them. I still find myself bringing up Trude and Tonk stories all the time. It feels weird, like it is keeping me from moving on, but they are remarkable puppies who do a lot of funny fucking shit... so there's a good chance that those bean stories aren't going anywhere any time soon.
I was allowed one final weekend with those two, which is where the photos in this post came from. It was a wonderful weekend, we had a lot of cuddles, a lazy day and an adventuresome day, but it over far too soon. No amount of time would have been enough, though. On the car ride to drop them off for the last time I was crying pretty hard and Tonka came across the bench seat of my truck, sat his little bean ass down right next to mine and put his head on my shoulder. I can still feel that darling little boy's breath on my neck and see those huge brown eyes that were filled with such concern over why mama was so sad. It kills me to think of him wondering why mama never came back to get him after that night. "It's not that I don't want to, buddy," I'd tell him if I could.
Because I do... every last stinking bit of me wants to stop by and just check to make sure they're happy and safe and have plenty of treats and tennis balls to play with.
But I won't, because while I don't agree with the decision, I, for some reason, feel compelled to go along with it. Those dogs were a huge part of me, and they always will be, and when I'm ready I hope to have many many more boxer puppies. There will never be another Gertie, or another Tonka Truck, but that doesn't mean there won't be other, just as amazing, baby beans.
As far as I know, they are healthy and happy, living and wiggling around just a mile or so up the street. For that I am so glad. And as I wake up each morning, all I can do is imagine them as they always were; a fussy, sleepy little Tonk hiding under the covers trying to be left alone to sleep, and a sunny, happy little Gertie jumping up and down, wiggling with all of her might, screaming with every fiber of her doggy being "HEY! HEY YOU! IT'S A NEW DAY!!!!"
