This Too Shall Pass

The other morning, I was really chugging along. Up on time and about ready to jump on my bike and head to the bus stop. Packed some lunch in my bag so I wouldn't have to spend extra money. I was on it. I went out back to give the dogs water. Leaned over the bowl with the hose, and when I looked up there was Boomer, the dog who eats everything, with a bunch of bananas in his mouth. Wagging at me. Taunting me.

Look at me, lady. Look what I've got.
I got them out of your bag. Wanna come get 'em?
C'mon, come try to get 'em.

He did that thing dogs do when they bend down on their forelegs and kind of wave their butts back and forth. Then he started choking down the bunch.

And I realized I just can't handle that dog.

Since we last met, that dog has eaten two other bunches of bananas, a couple of loaves of cheese, and several cubes of butter. Off the kitchen counter. And before you say, "why don't you put that stuff away?" let me assure you, I do my best. But sometimes, in the middle of making grilled cheese sandwiches, I get distracted by one of the kids or the other dog, and I turn around, JUST FOR A SECOND, and the little bastard's nose sneaks its way up onto the counter and WHAM, it's in his mouth. And I chase him around the house, the kids running after me, yelling. We tackle all seventy-five pounds of him and he growls and wags his tail and even though I try to yank it out, he swallows harder, and then it's gone.

If I leave him outside while we're eating, he just whimpers and whines and makes things unpleasant. If I let him in, we sit at the table with a water bottle to spray him if he tries to take food from our plates. He wakes me up twice a night to go outside. He is whimpering at me now, nudging his nose against my elbow so that I can't type. So that I will pet him.

I just don't know what to do with him, and on a bad day he makes me miserable.

I've floated the notion of a new home, but as you can imagine, it won't fly. "NO! We love him!" Never mind that he has grabbed food from their very mouths, chewed up their favorite toys, terrified their friends, and knocked them over with his vivaciousness.

He is only two. I've hired a dog walker to get some of his energy out during the day. I'm going to look for a trainer, too. Time passes, and lots of problems take care of themselves. One day, he will be older, more mature.

I find myself older and possibly more mature. Lately I've been noting that it has been about a year since the kids' dad moved out. We are expecting the divorce to be formalized next month. A year ago, I felt like the skin had been peeled off me and I was walking around defenseless. I was sure our separation was THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN. And look, here I am today, not just managing but living. He's doing okay, too. My kids are thriving. I'm nine months' sober. I'm dating a great guy. I only have two more DUI program meetings. And I'm half way through the year without a car. Look at that.