It's Me and My Six Dogs

The Belle and I used to share stories. I suspect I know more of her premarital history than her sons. These were our girlfriend moments.

Once I was in a domestic situation -- okay, some called it a marriage but I don't remember it that way. I wanted out in a big way.

Beyond the obvious issues of ending a relationship, I had no idea what to do with myself and my dependents. They weren't children; they were dogs. One dog had been with me for years. One I had recently rescued from the Target parking lot. She repaid the favor by having four puppies in my closet.

I don't remember what tipped me over the edge but I do remember that night with great clarity. It was a Friday and the upcoming Monday was a holiday. I couldn't fathom a long weekend. I called on girlfriend support which meant an emergency meeting for a drink after work.

I went to my house. I paced a lot (in between tending to my six dogs.) I gave myself a window to wait for him. I rehearsed what I would say. I threw a few items of clothing in a bag to get me through. When it hit 7:00 P.M., I could wait and pace no longer. I put six dogs in a laundry basket and I left a note.

It's humiliating to remember. I am actually one of those people who has left a "Dear John" letter as I fled. You know where I went.

One of my parents opened the door. They knew I was unhappy but they were not expecting me to show up on their doorstep. One of my favorite quotes is from Robert Frost:

Home is where they have to take you in.

He didn't mention hauling six dogs along.