There are many things that I think about in my mind that I would never do. I think all minds are like that, right? If not, I suppose I have issues.
For example, kids constantly push you to your “limit.” And you have these split-second thoughts about THE MANY options you have. Seriously, there are so many things you COULD do. You could run away, chose violence, chose neglect, etc. You can think of some horrible options. But, while you think those thoughts, most of us out there CHOOSE the kind choice, the loving choice, the right choice. It doesn’t mean that, for a moment, your mind doesn’t go to a dark place.
At least, mine does. Not all the time. I’m not sitting here constantly thinking of horrible things. But I do occasionally have dark thoughts. Thoughts that I push away because I’m not that type of person. Thoughts I push away because I am not the one thinking those thoughts. I am the one hearing them. I’m hoping that’s totally common, and people just don’t talk about it because they are embarrassed that their minds go to that place.
This post isn’t about my kids, though. This dark thought moment is about my dog. My aging, one paw (maybe 2) on the rainbow bridge, dog.
Anyone want a dog?
Years ago, I used to say “how could anyone EVER give a dog they’ve had for years, up for adoption? That’s so cruel. I would never!” That thought seemed horrible. To totally displace a dog when they only have a bit of time left. To take them out of the only family they’ve ever known. I never thought for any amount of a moment that that was OK. But after 3 or so years of gradual life decline for our family dog Coco, I’m thinking dark thoughts.
She’s healthy enough, don’t get me wrong. She prances occasionally and gets roly-poly moments. But for the most part she lays around, leaking in her sleep. She smells, has bad back legs, skin tags hanging off all sides of her body, poor eyesight and hearing, and pees in the house. Granted, some of the smell is my fault. I didn’t start her off on getting her teeth cleaned as a pup, so now her mouth is ranky at the ripe age of 13.
I can deal with the smell, dangling things off her body, and her lack of mobility/hearing/seeing. The main thing that makes me visualize walking her back to the humane society is the piss. I’ve had to clean dog urine up in our new house now at least 10 times, even though this geriatric dog is in diapers. She will purposely piss right through them. I let her out more often than I ever used to because I know she’s old and can’t hold it that long. But now it seems she’s also at that point in her life where if you don’t let her out when she WANTS to be let out (regardless of if she can hold it longer or not), she’ll just say fuck it and go.
And, as I’m cleaning up piss for the umpteenth time in my life, the dark thoughts come. “I can totally see how people give up their older dogs. This is so goddamn annoying. I don’t have time for this shit. How are you still alive anyways?”
I think those things. I visualize how much simpler life would be. With 3 and a half kids, work, and the house, caring for a dog is becoming an irritation. So many things need my care and attention that this aging pooch is coming up low on my give-a-shit list. I love dogs, I do. I can’t watch any show or movie where one dies. I get choked up just thinking of Marley & Me and I’ve never even seen the movie. Just the premise kills me. It’s a conundrum. I love Coco. But my responsibility list is brimming full. It’s like I have a puppy again and I wasn’t prepared for that. Sometimes I dream of the day when I’m dogless…. just for a bit.
Stuck for life
I would never do it. I couldn’t do it. Me and this stanky pooch are stuck together. But that doesn’t mean that my mind doesn’t roll over the choices I have as I soak up dog urine off my new area rug. It doesn’t mean that I don’t question her life clock when I’m washing pee-soaked doggie diapers.
Like I said, I think things. I hear the awful thoughts. But then I make the kind choice.
