29. The Journey Of A Driven Dog
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It seemed to me that I wasn't the only one feeling this way. As life's odometer rolled from 2018 into 2019 lots of my friends and family were happy to leave the year in the rearview mirror and I was no exception.
In my early 20's I dated a guy who would always let his gas tank dip well below E before he'd refill it. He always told me that he knew just how much past empty he could go before it would die completely and he would refill before it did. I always suspected it was a massive game of gas tank chicken that he would eventually lose.
I was right.
One day, as we were coasting on empty (literally not figuratively, even though both are probably true), on a back road in the small town where we lived, we ran out of gas. There were three of us in the vehicle and as luck would have it, we stalled out at the top of a very steep hill, with a gas station at the bottom. For anybody else, this was an easy problem to solve. There was a jerry can in the back, a simple 15–20-minute walk down the hill and back, we'd be on the road again. Except, my boyfriend was not much of a walker and the logic of this appeared differently to him and his friend than it did to me. They could push the vehicle over the hill and I could steer down the hill and into the gas station. They would run behind. While they would still have to go one way to the gas station this would save them having to walk back up the steep hill carrying the full jerry can.I had little experience driving and was not the most confident behind the wheel to begin with (even now, a good 12-13 years later), but the road was empty, and I was very skeptical of the idea working out at all. I was sure I wouldn't get far, I'd pull to the side of the road, and they'd end up walking anyway. So, I took my place behind the wheel, and over the hill we went.
To my surprise, we rolled smoothly down the hill, into the gas station, and coasted right up to the pump before we ran out of steam and stopped with no need for me to even touch the brake pedal.
This is the closest analogy I can think of to describe how 2018 ended for me: out of gas, coasting downhill into a chance to start the engines again, with two crazy boys (Target and Comet) chasing after me. It seemed to me that I wasn't the only one feeling this way.
As life's odometer rolled from 2018 into 2019 lots of my friends and family were happy to leave the year in the rearview mirror and I was no exception.
It had been six months of managing on my own and it had been a significant undertaking. The household I was managing was designed for two people. Two dogs, two cats, two incomes, a mountain of responsibility that was meant to be divided and conquered by two sets of hands. From Monday-Friday, I was working as an administrative assistant for a large retail company. This meant my days consisted of, getting up at dawn to care for and organize the dogs, go to work where I would help care for and organize a company, come home to care for an organize the house as well as the dogs again, stay up late, only to get up early the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat as one does.
My weekends would consist of one day of cleaning house and preparing ourselves for the week ahead and one day of adventuring in our home in the Northshore Mountains. Despite anything I was going through, I tried to insist (to an almost unhealthy degree) that Target and Comet would live the fullest lives I could provide to them at the time (an insistence I still maintain to this day).
As the clock struck midnight and 2019 was ushered in, the man I had attended a party with leaned in and whispered to me "I would really like a New Year's kiss" and before I even knew what I was saying my response was "I would really like to sleep". This moment was when it became glaringly obvious that my lifestyle was not sustainable as it was. This was when I knew, I had to change my plans (or lack thereof)
I have mentioned on a few occasions that, when I was destined to become a crazy cat lady, I would always scoff at the people who would admonish that their dog saved their lives when they had been faced by insurmountable grief, unexpected tragedy, or impassable obstacles. I had strong connections with my cats, as many of my friends do/did with their cats, but I didn't entirely realize that the scope and depth of a dog's love, loyalty and devotion was on such a different level than all other animals. A different level even that which exists between people.
Up until I had dogs, the widest scope of affection, love and compassion belonged to human beings. I can also honestly say, sitting here now after a divorce, a failed attempt at brokering the dating world again and a global pandemic, I was completely wrong, and dogs unequivocally hold the title of Goodest Good Boy/Girl on this planet. It became obvious heading into 2019 that my dogs had indeed hauled me through the worst of times. When I mentioned to a fellow border collie enthusiast that the real work for my survival had been shouldered by my "poor" dogs, his response was "why of course, you know if you ever want a good job done, you ask a border collie"
