To think like a dog

To say I love her seems an understatement.

I can't quite explain it. It seems too obvious to blame it on being there when she gave birth to her pups. To go through that when our relationship was so fresh it had dew on it probably did have an indelible effect, yet our bond almost feels old, weathered, deeper than a mere 6 weeks--with any sort of experience--would warrant.

I know I need to let her go. It is becoming abundantly clear. There is a family who thinks of her, who want her with them, who long to love her for the rest of her life. I have these same desires and thoughts, but that's not what I signed on for and I know it, regardless of the pain that sometimes brings.

Just to be clear, I don't love her because she's perfect either. No dog is perfect, just like no human is perfect. She doesn't listen as well as Paisley, or as well as Bran for that matter. She has the most hilarious habit of chewing on pillows and blankets, sometimes when she seems nervous, other times when she is being silly and playful. She barks at phantom noises. She thinks she owns this place...and me (darn, I didn't realize I was that transparent).

So yes, I'll let go. I must let go. Not today though, thankfully. She's still mine for a while. Then, just like all the other dogs who have graced our family and then moved on, she'll reside forever in my heart and memory, bringing mysterious smiles to my face whenever she crosses into my direct consciousness. Holding so tight only to let go hardly seems worth it sometimes, were it not for those moments.

For now, I'll snuggle tight with Sula and I'll do my best to think like a dog: to be in the moment, to not fret over tomorrow or the next week or the goodbye yet to come. I can focus on the love before me and be thankful for all that it is, right now.