Friday night I got a call from the dogs’ new owners. Jersey had been digging in their back yard and they rent. Would I please take him back but they want to keep Blue. Absolutely.
So after I hang up the phone, my husband asks how I feel about this and I tell him quite honestly I’m not sure I can do it again. Jersey was my dog. And giving him up was excruciating. So hubby says, Ok, let’s try keeping him and see how it goes with just him.
I picked him up Saturday morning. He was definitely wigged out the first day but has since settled back in to home. I think he’s happier being the only dog in the house, maybe.
But getting him back means I need to make some changes so I can meet his needs now a long with everything else on my list. sigh. What it really means is I need to get up an hour earlier so I can walk him before my husband leaves for work. The problem with that, I am NOT a morning person in the worst way.
Take today for example, first day I need to get up at 6 so I can spend an hour drinking coffee and working on my writing, before I walk the dog. I rolled out of bed at 740, pulled on the first clothes I could find, poured myself a cup of coffee in a to-go mug and started walking the dog with my eyes still mostly closed. I don’t think I even remember the first stumbling half of the walk.
I could continue to get up at 730 and have time to walk the dog before the hubby leaves for work, if I want to repeat the stumbling along with coffee experience daily, but that would mean giving up my writing time. And this is the kind of decision that led to me agreeing to rehome them in the first place. I remember in my 20s getting up at 445 to work out before being at the office at 7. I remember the job I had with a 5 AM start time. I had no problem making these hours. Why can’t I get up?
I think it’s because patiently and kindly handling my son all day long is more exhausting than when I worked two jobs, than when I worked a full time job and I went to college. And that sucks.