Ellie's Brain

Today was one of those days that just felt off for no one reason in particular. I chalk it up to the fact that December 28th is looming ahead; the day that my beloved dog of five years gets re-homed to the luckiest family in the world.

As the days pass, I feel myself flitting between all sorts of emotions. Surprisingly, most are good, and it feels wrong to admit that. But among the good days lurk the bad, and there are moments where I feel so sad about a life without Ozzie that the sadness borders on nausea. I remind myself to think of our futures– as in Ozzie’s and I’s individual futures, apart. Our futures are bright, and I refocus my attention onto why I made this decision in the first place. Regardless though, some days are just hard.

Two days ago I took Ozzie to go visit the man who had taken care of him for a month in October while I was completing a volunteer project in Norway. Jim and his chocolate lab had grown very fond of him during that time, and he mentioned that he’d love to have us come by so the two dogs could play together again. Of course, I agreed.

One hour turned into two, and after receiving a heartfelt Christmas card from him and a new rubber chew-toy for Ozzie, it was time to say our goodbye’s. I had already informed him of my decision to re-home Ozzie, and he seemed to take the news a bit harder than I expected him to. As he kneeled on the ground and allowed my dog to lick all over his bristly, white mustache, I felt a small lump form somewhere in the back of my throat.

He walked us to my car, said a gruff goodbye to Ozzie in the backseat, and when I reached up to hug him I noticed tears in his blue eyes after I pulled away. This tall, rough, retired war veteran’s voice wobbled as he told me that even though Ozzie was going away to Kentucky, I was always welcome to come by and visit him and the dog. I impulsively scooped him up into another tight hug.

It could be that the sadness I felt from that moment has continued to seep into my bones as the days go by. Today I felt it distract me as I moved about my usual tasks. The lump moved to my stomach, and there it sat, stoically.

As evening fell, I felt less inclined than usual to take Ozzie out for his walk. I should be relishing every last walk I get with him, yet here I was trying to gauge how willing my mom would feel about walking him instead. Eventually though, I got myself together, changed into some warmer clothes, strapped on his harness, and together we stepped outside.

I played meditation music in my headphones as we walked, hoping it would work to soothe the lump in my stomach. I let Ozzie choose the direction we walked in, which led us to walk in aimless loops around a vacant parking lot as he chased smells invisible to all noses but his own.

Suddenly his ears pricked up, and he began wagging his tail excitedly. I glanced up to see one of our across-the-street neighbors and his moody husky walking towards us. My spirits lifted slightly, because although I’m not always eager about running into people I know on a walk, I’ve always found this duo’s company to be enjoyable.

Admittedly, I’ve known this neighbor for years and I still don’t remember his name, but I do know his husky’s name is Zeus. Mostly because every time that dog snaps (which is often), he goes “Zeuuus,” in a stern tone, but he never sounds annoyed about it. In fact, he says it almost affectionately. I find it impossible to dislike the two of them.

We chatted for a bit as he asked me about any recent trips, and then we both just watched and giggled as Ozzie got the zoomies around us (Zeus was not pleased, and grew audibly grumpier each time Ozzie zoomed a little too close to him). I liked the owner too because he didn’t care when Ozzie jumped on him, even when it was with so much force that it knocked the wind out of him. Frankly, anyone who allows my muscular dog to knock them around is an automatic winner in my book.

He asked if I was continuing my walk in that direction, which I wasn’t but I said yes anyways, so the four of us began our walk. I told him about the re-homing, and his mouth fell open. He looked so crestfallen that for a moment, I felt the lump in my stomach again. But as I talked about it more and he slowly came around, I stopped feeling the lump altogether. I kept jabbering as he listened on patiently, his face kind.

It got dark quickly, and we continued to walk. We followed our dogs’ lead, and somehow avoided running into any triggers along the way (this was indeed very impressive, seeing as both of our dogs are quite reactive). We shared stories about our dogs, the bad ones mostly, and bonded over the times that our dogs have bitten people we’ve loved. It felt so good to laugh about it, and to have someone understand.

He was a single dog owner as well, and he shared my struggles on what it was like to take care of a dog when your heart yearned to travel. He told me about the trip he had to cancel last-minute because his dog ended up growling at the woman taking care of him, and another instance where his dog bit his friend’s hand and he was forced to quarantine him for 10 days afterwards by law, thus causing him to miss a trip to the Virgin Islands. “I love him,” he said, “but I don’t think I’ll get another dog after.” At another point he talked about what had caused him to get a dog in the first place, during the COVID dog craze when everyone was getting a pet (I’m guilty of this too), and he said if he had to go back, he’d rethink his decision to get Zeus.

I felt soothed beyond belief, and I’m not sure if it was the shared bemoaning of our dog struggles (single parents everywhere must be rolling their eyes and thinking we know nothing about what it’s like to care for an actual human baby, which…true), or the simple fact that I had started this walk feeling utterly alone but was ending it with a pack. All I knew was that I felt much, much better than how I did when I’d first stepped outside.

When it was time to depart, I watched him tenderly pat Ozzie on the back for much longer than he usually does. “I’ll see you soon,” he told him, stroking him over and over. Ozzie panted happily, and he said it again.

I wished him a good night, then he and Zeus crossed the street to their home as Ozzie and I turned towards ours; both of our minds on the dog beside us that we love so much.