Cue the Etta James: At last! My (little) love has come along. Or, more accurately, back home.
I know people always talk about how special their dog is, loyal, true, etc., etc., but let me just put this into perspective for you: My dog has seen me through three serious boyfriends (read: three messy and painful breakups), half a dozen not-serious boyfriends, a couple of intense life-changing events, an interstate and international move, the death of a dear friend, five different sets of roommates, four different houses/apartments, countless hangovers, and the crazy evolution of life I’ve gone through from my early to late twenties. And yes, he didn’t have much of an option about any of it, but I have the strongest suspicion that, if given the choice, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else but with me.
Now, I get that dogs are simply wired this way, and I’m probably anthropomorphizing a little more than the average person should. But there is something really special about being a dog owner, and it’s difficult to tell who gets more out of the relationship – the human or the dog.
So yesterday I found myself jumping into a GoGet (Zipcar), and driving the harrowing hour-long drive across Sydney, west to the quarantine station that had kept my dog for the last 30 days. The last time I had seen him was July 9th when I left my parents house to move indefinitely to Australia, and the closer I got to the facility, the more excited I became. I had to consciously steer my thoughts away from the realization that I was within a quarter mile of my most steadfast companion for the last six years as I exited the freeway.
I also drove across the Anzac Bridge!
I went in and signed the paperwork while the receptionist called for him to be brought up from his kennel. I sat waiting and waiting with an inexplicable lump in my throat, eagerly looking at every employee who walked by, hoping it was the one bringing Jameson. When he finally came in he was happy to see me, but I think it took him a while to really register the situation. He was as excited as he ever is when he sees me after a long absence, but not overwhelmingly so. But once we got into the car and started back east, he’d suddenly sit up, look at me, and start crying faintly under his breath as the situation registered in small waves. I think it was possibly his body’s way of keeping his heart or brain from exploding.
So we went home, I let him explore the apartment, then we went off to explore Bondi.
And finally, after four long months, my universe’s equilibrium as been restored. I’m looking forward to ending all my days like this again.