Fuck It, I'm Bringing My Dog

Do you ever get somewhere and realize you’d rather be anywhere but that place? By “anywhere”… I mean your couch.

Yeah, me too. Every Friday night I make plans.

If we’re being honest with ourselves, in-advance plans should go away. 

There’s literally nothing worse than getting a Facebook invite or group text a few weeks prior to an event and seeing all your mutual friends RSVP yes and having that trick you into thinking you want to attend.

Social invites are an adult’s version of peer pressure.

It’s clear this middle-school common courtesy to refrain from such actions has fallen by the wayside in adulthood, so let me remind you – playground rules are forever. Peer pressure is illegal.  

After all these years of inadvertently being talked into Friday night hangs, I’ve found a tried-and-true solution. And as the purveyor of No Friday Night Plans, it’s my civic duty to share with the masses.

GET. A. DOG.

The bigger, the better.

A great pyrenees at a house party will cause a scene a heck of a lot faster than an inconspicuous chihuahua. And we’ve got Fixer Upper reruns on at 9.

When I got Blue, my 85-pound black lab, I knew I was getting into early mornings and long walks through the ‘hood. Little did I know his selfish ways would one day lead to my greatest success.

Blue’s all about getting fed right when he wakes up; if I walk past the treat cabinet, I’d better be getting him one; and if I’m changing out of my work clothes, WE MUST BE GOING FOR A RUN.

He drools. He sheds. He shakes. If you look at him the wrong way, he gets mouthy.

He’s a terrible toddler – and if it were legal, you know toddlers wouldn’t be allowed anywhere.

So instead, I’ll bring my dog. Your move, Karen. Your move.

A Shot in the Dark

There’s something magical about complete darkness. Maybe it’s that I live in a city and it doesn’t happen.

Maybe it’s the idea that you can be whoever you want under nightfall. That all expectations fall away with the daylight.

Maybe it’s that night is the preface to a day full of possibility. 

There are as many reasons, or more, to be scared of the dark. But to me, there’s beauty in that too.

I got to experience the most extraordinary form of darkness to close out 2018.

In the middle of the Caribbean, surrounded by the most important people in my life, we paused and tilted our heads back.

And in that moment, I think we each realized how insignificant we all are and, in turn, just how significant that makes us feel. The meaning of life was found in those 15 minutes.

Life’s meant to be lived like a shooting star flying across the sky.

Appearing in a split second with no need to worry about where it originated, just that it did.

It flies so fast if you blink you might miss it. Forget trying to capture it in a picture.

That same star fades to black as quickly as it comes to light. Where did it go?

Does it matter?  

No.

Just as none of that matters for us. Just as long as we’re lighting up while we’re here.

CHARLIE

As all good things go, it started at a Saturday PetSmart adoption event.

There was every type of pet – dogs, puppies, cats, bunnies, birds (probably), etc. We weren’t there for felines or rodents or flying rodents. Honestly, we weren’t there for any of them. My parents were just trying to quiet the tireless begging to go look at puppies. 

My family had been without one for months. And when you’ve once known the unconditional love of a pet, months feel like years. That’s how it is when your heart was made with a dog in mind.  

My sisters and I had recently discovered PetFinder, an online site that curates adoptable pets. We spent hours clicking on one dog followed by another. One day, we came across a litter of Australian Shepard puppies and it seemed our persistence had finally paid off.

While we were busy bonding with what we hoped would become our new family member, my mom walked away. It wasn’t long until she headed back to us cradling a scrawny black and brown pup with a major dandruff problem and a I’m-not-here-to-impress-anybody attitude.

As quickly as he lost interest in us and started gobbling the free kibble on the floor, we fell in love with him. And when my dad said, “he is kind of cute,” we knew our hearts would never be empty again.

At least for a very long time.

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When you grow up with a dog, you go through so much together. Thirteen and a half years is what we got. Of that time, Charlie is in every memory – if not the center, he’s in the background offering a sweet lick or a loyal tail wag.

There wasn’t a sweeter face.

Even people who never met Charlie fell in love with his comforting brown eyes and gentle face. Countless times someone would stop us at the park to ask his breed… he was more coveted than any doodle I’ve ever met and so much better: He was one of a kind.

There wasn’t a freer spirit.  

Greg and I often took Blue and Charlie on hiking trails around Smithville Lake. Blue was trained to be off-leash, but Charlie wasn’t. Yet, there was no way we could hold back his wild side. Chuck chased squirrels; ran through mud puddles, always coming out wearing boots; and sprinted faster than I’d ever seen. His smile was plastered to his face just as the burrs were to his body. And they were stuck. I’m pretty sure he had one on his upper lip until the very end.

There wasn’t a worse running buddy.

Charlie was known for bailing on runs about half a mile in. He’d max out his leash, find a neighbor’s front lawn with a shade tree and lie down. He wouldn’t budge. It always ended with calling my mom to come pick him up and my sisters and I would continue for a few more miles.

There wasn’t a better dog.

It was almost as though he were human. We often made jokes he was my grandpa, whom we lost about 6 weeks before Charlie found us, reincarnated. (Which only makes the disdain for long-distance running all the more clear.) Even as a puppy, Charlie had an old soul – like he’d already lived a life and knew his purpose, which was to make our family complete.

There wasn’t a harder goodbye.

I’ll never forget the heartbreak I felt when we got Blue. The transition Charlie made from my dog to my parent’s dog made my heart heavy. It felt like such a deep betrayal – one I wasn’t ready to make but people forced upon me “for clarity’s sake.” Well that feeling had nothing on my final goodbye in July.

———

Today marks 14 years to the day we first met Charlie boy. 14 years since we welcomed him home and he cuddled his way into our hearts.

The night I said farewell, I said I didn’t understand why anyone would own a dog. In that moment, the 13.5 years of companionship didn’t hold a candle to the all-consuming grief. But with a little time to heal and reflect, it hit me. I had experienced that pain once before.  

14 years ago. Longing for a dog.  

And now, I get it.

The only thing worse than having loved a dog and lost him is to have not had one to love at all.

The Slow Burn

I used to think creativity came naturally. Something that feels this organic to who I am clearly just happened. Therefore, it didn’t need care.

How naïve was I?

I used to think I could access that part of me at any time. That no matter what I did, it would always be there.

How selfish was I?

I honestly thought as long as my mind could function and my fingers could type, I’d have a story to share and a narrative to write.

How silly of me.

That’s not how creativity works. It requires space. It requires thought. It requires a certain responsibility. You must feed the rumblings when they’re begging to be fed.  

I haven’t done that. No, not recently.

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This realization came to me through watching others do everything I have not. Others who took time to nurture their souls and make time for their craft.  

I’ve been listening to music I feel in my bones. Music that feels tangible, like I could hike through it and come out the other side.

I’ve been looking at gorgeous photographs that stir something within. They make me crazy with words I can’t seem to grasp ahold of.

I’ve found it in sentences that paint a picture of complexity very simply. Sentences so rhythmic they could stand alone as poems. They speak to me. But it seems I’m struggling to speak the same way.

There’s a lot of deep reflection in seeing others do. There’s pride in knowing people who tend to what fulfills them. In watching them create space in the world to experience it fiercely and report back.

There’s also a sadness. I’m not doing that. What used to burn bright is just dark gray ash. It feels as though my voice is a thumb tirelessly rolling on a flint wheel. Never giving way to flame.  

And yet, it’s my fault. I didn’t leave margin for inspiration. I didn’t make time to contemplate. Instead, I sat still. I let my day-to-day work override the beauty of my experiences. I let it suffocate the light.

And that, I’m not okay with.

This year, I will allow myself to exist in whatever capacity fills my heart. It will change – everything does. But for now, I will purposefully leave room for passion. For this passion and any other. And I know it will all come back to me.

For it’s a slow burn waiting to roar.

Spread the Word

I’ve been around words my entire life – we all have. Starting as kids, we pick them up from our parents and those around us. As we get older, we add to our vocabularies from books we read and people we meet.

There are only two ways to discover new words – either hear them spoken or read them written.

But when you are a writer, there’s an expectation you know every word. Like we have some sort of magical power that populates our brains with the entirety of the dictionary.

First of all, I WISH.

Second of all, the pressure is real. It’s very, very real.

So you can imagine the stress that ensued when Greg threw out “copacetic” a few weeks ago and I paused.

I. Did. Not. Know. It.

I. Have. No. Poker. Face.

Within seconds Greg smiled slyly and turned into a monster.

He clearly had to be smarter to know that word. I obviously wasn’t a better writer. I needed to reassess every time I ever corrected his grammar. There was a new sheriff in town.    

But here’s the thing: I CANNOT KNOW WORDS I’VE NEVER READ OR HEARD.

So if you, Greg, truly knew this word so well all this time, why didn’t you use it? Why didn’t you introduce me to it in the 5 years we’ve been together?

I hadn’t once seen it in a text message or heard him say it in conversation.

But since then, I sure have. Matter of fact, for the 48 hours following this groundbreaking discovery, Greg used copacetic every chance he could.

— -

“How was your day?” “Copacetic.”

Accidentally bumped into him in the kitchen: “Oh sorry.” “It’s all copacetic.”

“Hey, did you need something?” “Nah, it’s copacetic.”

— -

Here’s the thing – the very big thing everyone seems to overlook. Not knowing a word isn’t on the person who doesn’t know it, it’s on everyone else.

Everyone who knew it and didn’t use it. They all let you down.

This time, they let me down – and if you ask me, that’s not copacetic.

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ADDENDUM

After sharing this blog with Greg and getting the best feedback I’ve ever gotten from him on a blog, including “I found it very challenging to not laugh out loud,” he had a minor confession.

He heard copacetic for the first time last month when a contractor on his job used it. After which, he made a plan to say it around me to either impress me (assuming I knew the word) or to drive me crazy by knowing a word I didn’t know.

Based on the above, you know which way it went.

Special shoutout to my newest reader, contractor David. Thanks for 1. teaching my husband new things and 2. giving my blog a read. You can stop conspiring with him now.