Admitting It

A few years ago, back when I was on my own, I decided that it would be a good idea to learn how to take care of someone other than just myself. I started looking for a dog. My husband, boyfriend at the time, knowing about my search, surprised me with a cute little puppy. Looking back, I should have gotten a plant.

So, we named our new addition Chewy. Between the two of us and our busy careers, we took care of Chewy. I lived a few feet from the ocean but since Chewy barked at other dogs like he was crazy and had rabies, I walked him every morning in the dumpy alley instead of the beautiful Manhattan Beach strand, gazing at the back door trash cans and garage doors in place of the ocean . Oh well. Then I got married and we had to move. It was traumatizing for everyone involved, especially Chewy. But we all survived and moved to Brentwood, where I walked Chewy in the alleys there. Then Bubu was born.

We joked that Chewy was our first born and that he now had a brother. Don't we all do that? Pretend that our pets are siblings with our children? Okay, well, we did. I think that was a turning point. Chewy went on fewer walks and he seemed to get in trouble a lot more. We tried to be understanding of the transition he was going through but we didn't do good enough a job with that. Then we moved to Northern California. It was a seven hour drive and my husband and Bubu drove up together ahead of us and then many hours later, after the movers had finished packing us up, Chewy and I headed up North. Leaving my home of ten years was tough, but I wasn't alone, I had my dog.

When Bubu started crawling, we realized we had to be a little more careful but we weren't on high alert at all time with the dog and the baby. Needless to say, we had a few incidents and our sweet little Chewy got blacklisted with our family. That part really sucked but we totally understood and it just gradually became a lot more trouble for us. After Peewee was born, we had another incident and that was it.

It took me months, but I finally found a rescue that accepted Chewy and is putting him up for adoption. My husband and I had to surrender our first born yesterday. It was hands down the most awful, painful thing I've had to do in I don't know how long. I still feel like I've been punched in the gut numerous times. Did we do the right thing? I don't know, I guess. What is it that hurts so bad? It's because I failed him. I failed Chewy by not trying harder to train him, to take him for longer walks, to care more, to make more time for him, and now what? It was my failure as a an owner, as his parent, that has led to poor Chewy probably sleeping in a crate last night instead of in our warm, cozy bed with us.

At this point, I'm just praying that he goes to a good home. To an owner that won't fail him like I did.