Dear Wally, the best dog in the 'verse,

Thanks for teaching me so much, all the time. Knowing you now, it's hard to even imagine how our road together started.  Like how you ripped through a door like some kind of crazed wolf that first week, or that time you broke your chain and ran away and I had to chase you. When I finally caught you, your collar was broken, so I had to lead you home with some poor neighborhood child's sports ball pajama bottoms tied around your neck.

Or when we had our first battle of wills about bath time and you found out that I'm either stronger or more determined than I look, when I barrel carried all 85 lbs of you into the bathtub, after you refused to go under your own steam.

Those first few weeks you were so restless and unsettled. You chased Chloe around with large and unrequited adoration. AP was so stressed by your pacing and unpredictable behavior, he called the rescue we'd gotten you from to see if they thought it indicated a poor fit. I was worried that it was more than just the heartbreak of whatever you'd been through before you came to us. I was worried that you didn't like the smell of us, or our pace of life, or something else that wouldn't somehow ease. Or that you'd been broken and hurt so badly before that your heart would never accept us. I worried that you were irreversibly unhappy in our home.

Well of course you were, at first. You'd been separated from your family in Georgia, by what means I don't know. But you got locked in doggie jail; a long line of kennels leading to a one way door at the end of a hall. Dogs went through but never came back out. There you sat, on borrowed time, listening to the wails of your fellows all around you, smelling anxiety and sorrow. Until one day, when you were loaded into a kennel and onto a van, with 13 other dogs. You rode in the dark for 16 hours. They told me all the other dogs barked and howled and wailed, but you never even made a sound. Finally, late at night, they flung the doors open, clipped a leash onto you and let you jump out into the brisk September night air. Where we were waiting. Strangers with strange smells and new rules and a short leash.

But I remember, one night about a month after you came. AP went out with a friend until late. He never does, but this night it happened to just be you and me and a raucous devil of a thunderstorm. You came and sat yourself upon my lap, with your ears flat and your eyes huge and I wasn't sure if you were protecting me or seeking comfort, but something in our bond clicked and it was over for me, after that. I still didn't know if you'd ever bond with us more, but I knew you'd belong to my heart forever, and we'd just have to figure the rest out together.

because you were mine.


Now, we're mostly inseparable, except when it's too hot to take you. We have our routines every day; how you sqwunch your way up to lay like a little spoon next to me every morning when you see I'm awake. How you have contrived to explain to me exactly what you're wanting by walking to the thing and bumping it with your nose. Or the way you use your rooo roooo sound to talk to us, but only around 7:30, after we've had dinner, while we're sitting, chatting about the day. I can mark a clock by it. 

Now, when I come home I find you curled up in my chair. You immediately worm around so your belly is up, waiting for scratches, your tail flipping, because you know that the first thing I'll do is put my stuff down and come to you. You've proven such a point, Wally, and you're not even a people. You've taught me so much about how love stays the course, about how heartbreak takes time and above all, about how it's worth it to love, even when it may seem hopeless.

You are the best dog in the 'verse.

Dear Bullet Journal and The Things,

I'm enjoying you, although it's hard for me to develop the system as I go. I'm a silly thing and sometimes want to have everything figured out before I do the work of figuring things out. I'm also not sure if you're worth the time, long term, or if I just need to go back to my old system, which was messier, but never failed me. But I'll give it a little more time before deciding.

Dear Drawing,

A little bit you keep me sane these days. You're rough and funny and amateur, but you soothe me and that's enough.