After much trepidation I decided to go ahead and let the city have my dog (my pet by default). King (that's the dog) became a gift to my girls from their uncle (my brother) when he moved to a place that could not accomodate a dog of King's size. My husband was reticent to accept this newcomer, but how could he resist four sets of puppy dog eyes (mine, Lauryn, Ashley and King who was only 6 weeks old at the time...adorable), I mean, really? That was six months, about 40 pounds and recent move/relo to another city and somene else's house (and rules) ago.
King was one big running jumping nipping ball of puppy energy. If you didn't know any better you'd thinking he was full grown...not even! In short, since moving to Oklahoma City I have had to go from homeowner to tenant and my landlord has become increasing less "friendly" regarding my pet...making all manor of threats...whatever! Like I'm scared or something. Anyway! Since he (the landlord) refused to fix HIS fence and refused to let my husband alter the fence to keep our dog from hopping over his fence I had to make a choice I never dreamed would be so difficult.
I had no idea just how attached I'd become to King (AKA little bad ass) until he and I were at the animal shelter last evening. I thought they would just adopt him out like the cats and more mature dogs I saw in their cages. The woman asks me, "what kinda dog is he?" Thinking nothing of it, I reply, "Boxer and Pit(bull)." She looks at me and damn near whispers, "you know we don't adopt out Pits?" I'm sure the horror I felt inside shown on my face but I had to ask, "seriously?" She just shrugged as if to say "DUH". I ask for a moment to think it over. I step into the atrium, frantically speed dial my husband's cell, then his work, then his cell again...he didn't answer...not even the text I sent asking if we were sure that we wanted to give King away. I take a few deep breathes, then King and I stood in front of the same girl that moments before told me, bluntly, that they would kill my dog. Now, to know me is to know that I am a little, okay a lot, tender-hearted. The woman is looking at me looking at her, King looking at me, other people looking at me looking at her looking at me and my husband calls. He tells me, "Lisa, don't give away your dog because of (name omitted...but just know that it's my ass of a landlord). If you want to keep your dog, keep him. Okay?" I'm in tears looking foolish to on-lookers whom I could care less about. So, I hang up my cell phone and take my wet eyes and King's brown ones back to my car after apologizing to the woman behind the desk whose patience I was testing.
At the car, King and I talk it over and I apologize to him. Hug his disobedient neck and kiss the top of his irreverant head, promising that his successor would grow old with me and my girls. I suck up more tears and walk back inside. The same woman whispered to her co-worker that I was the one they'd been talking about moments before (like I couldn't read her lips, heffa). I didn't really care that I had been the subject of her venting. I apologized (insincerely) for causing her such frustration saying this was a very difficult decision. She half-heartedly said it was okay and asked, "Are you sure this time?" Her tone was stoaic, face like she'd never loved anything or anyone in her life. I stood there, holding King's leash taughtly with him obediently sitting by my side (that was new, like he knew what was about to go down). I gave her my name and phone number and address. I don't think anyone has ever entered my data at lightning speed before. Before I knew it, she was shoving papers across the desk at me for my signature. I signed them, offering King my apologetic eyes as another woman put a generic leash around his neck. I watched him walk away, wagging his tail like he was going to be bathed not killed...I felt like such an accomplice.
I'm sitting in the driver's seat of my car, holding his leash and collar like I held some of my mother's clothes after she died (not comparing human and canine lives...though both important). I'm doing the ugly cry in the parking lot. Thankfully, it's a little past dusk so no one can really see me. I feel sick to my stomach. I flung my door open so that my empty stomach could rebel against me. I took the long way home, took Mario out and put Jay-Z in...feeling less like love more like a gangsta. When I got home, I trashed everything to do with King...his bed, dishes, food, treats...everything.
Lawrence (that's my husband) comes home and notices my melancholy mood. "You gave him away?" I just nodded because my eyes instantly began to well. He reminded me that he told me not to give King away because of The Ass (that's my landlord). I said, "I know," sniffled and asked, "Can we not talk about it." He nodded his concession, held me as I cried. A moment or two passed before he broke our silence, "I'm truly sorry for your loss," squeezed me a little then said, "Let me take you out. Let's get a Margarita." I said, "I don't want a Margarita. I want a Sangria." So TGI Friday's was the destination and a Sangria was the drink of choice to drown my sorrow. After that he and I went a bought a Christmas tree. Lauryn (my oldest) helped me put it up.
So today, I stayed busy and tried my damndest not to even think about King. Tried even harder to convince myself that the dogs across the street aren't aware of my sin because I swear they were howling when I returned without King.
I miss my Kingdom!
*originally posted 12/21/07
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