The Dirt Field

Mischa,

It’s Friday afternoon, and you’ve been back at the rescue now for almost 24 hours. That means it has been 24 hours since I’ve worried about you going nuts in the house, 24 hours since I thought about how we could get you outside to play next, and 24 hours since your ears were mine to rub against my face. I miss you terribly.

When we first took you home, the wonderful lady who owns your rescue told us you would need plenty of running to keep you happy. Bobby and I don’t really run that often anymore, but we had no problem starting again for you. We changed our schedules as much as possible, and went from doing three walks a day to six or seven. Whenever possible, we took you running, took you for car rides, took you with us to get ice cream. I felt overwhelmed sometimes, just knowing how much you wanted to go out and go, go, go, and I know Bobby felt it too. But we had decided a day or so after you joined our family that you were a permanent fixture, so we tried to do our best.

We both saw that you were a wonderful, good-natured dog. You were quick to learn your new name and quick to understand that Kobe’s food belongs to Kobe and your food belongs to you. Within just a few days, you knew to sit eagerly when we glared at you and to hold still when there was a treat to be had. At night, you curled up with us in bed and slept peacefully (until 6am). It seemed like you were always eager to please, but just didn’t understand what we wanted. Maybe that was our fault; maybe we weren’t very good at communicating.

Things started getting more difficult this week. Last week was easier because we were able to spend more time with you in the evenings and on the weekend. We skipped workouts, didn’t run errands, and told ourselves that you were just getting settled and things would get back to normal soon. But they didn’t.

I had to work through lunch on Monday and couldn’t make it home to let you out. I know what happened wasn’t your fault, but it just showed that you weren’t ready to be alone all day. The next night, I had to work late and you were left alone while Bobby brought me dinner. Then we had a race the next evening and were both gone again. We were able to come home regularly enough to feed you and let you out, but you needed more time, more attention, more love than we could stop to give. Because we weren’t there, you started eating the pillows, the blinds, and the couch.

At that point, Bobby and I realized that this week was more like our regular lives than last week, and that you were going to be unhappy in the long run with us. We also knew that you were only going to get more destructive as time went by, and the dread of walking into the house after being gone for several hours was becoming too much. Despite having decided to keep you no matter what, we couldn’t stop discussing whether or not this was working out for any of us.

The answer became clear yesterday: we were not able to be your family and give you what you need to be happy. You need a yard with a fence and a family that is home more often. You don’t deserve to have a life where you constantly peer through the blinds at us while we come and go. And while it sounds so selfish to say, Bobby and I need to not feel so stressed and constantly worried about our dog. We need to know that we are not making an animal constantly unhappy by our inability to come through.

Understanding all of this has not made the last 24 hours any easier. I started crying the moment we drove through the gates of the rescue, cried while you reunited in a field with your old friends, and cried as we drove away. I know you are in wonderful hands and will stay there, safe and happy, until you are adopted again. I know the woman in charge of finding you a family was glad that she now has a better understanding of what kind of home you’ll need. Knowing these things has helped me get through the past 24 hours without melting down too much.

But I miss you. I missed you on the ride home, missed you intensely when I saw your empty bowls at home, missed your clumsy excitement while I repaired the broken blinds last night. Everything seems so quiet and empty without you. Bobby and Kobe miss you, too, and both seem to feel your absence in our home acutely. In just under two weeks, you wiggled your way into our hearts in a way I never imagined, and now I can’t believe I’ll never kiss your soft, furry head again. I feel like my heart broke a little in taking you back and now I’m just trying to believe that it was the best decision for all of us.

So take care, sweet girl. The rescue said you were doing well and having fun when I called to check in today, and I’m hoping they weren’t just saying that to make me feel better. I genuinely hope you have forgotten us already and that you find a new, perfect family soon. I’m so very sorry that family was not us, but know that I will always think about you and cross my fingers that you are happily chasing squirrels somewhere outside.

Love always,

Lindsay