My name is wry and I am 36 days in. I'll not lie, it's been hard, and I hit rock bottom. Like they say, you can only go up from there.
hope your last note to me was so lovely, I'm sorry I didn't answer because I couldn't bear to let you know what a fucking awful shit of a person I am. When I let my rescue boy go, it wasn't how you thought. How I wish it had been different. The behaviourists (two separate opinions) said he couldn't be rehomed safely. He would always have to be muzzled, never allowed off lead, contained safely when other people were in the house etc, etc.
My vet thought he had a major medical issue, a possible brain lesion. I let him go, as I said, calmly, with a bosie and love. But I let him go. I couldn't bear the thought of him doing it again, to me or to someone else, and being dragged away by officials with dog catcher poles. I couldn't bear for him to be scared and thrown in a kennel. He's back home with me, nestled between Little and Gentle. I am pleased he found me when he did, I will never, ever regret trying, but oh my heart. My heart. It is far more scarred than my body.
And I am sobbing again, the pain and guilt will never go. I feel like I failed. But he is at peace. Whatever ailed him, or scared him, he is at peace. And he is home.
For those who don't know me, please don't think badly of me, I did not do it lightly. Gentle and Little lived long and happy lives, Little was a rescue who had been badly beaten and with time, love and patience she grew up to be one in a million. I wanted him to have the same chance so badly.
Months have gone by, and with Spring, it is a time for hope. And so I would like you all to meet someone. (I've just had a look through all your photos!) She has breathed life, joy and some peace into my life again. And a reason to look forward. Getting up for toilet training duties meant not having one or two in case I sleep through. She is kicking the awd witch's saggy arse, one pee at a time.
The daffodils are out down the river. Even after our floods they made it through. They may have been lifted out of their comfort zones, they may be springing up in the most unlikely places, but they are shining their golden heads despite everything. It made me think of you lovely lot on the bus. Shining. Speaking for myself, I probably could do with a dab of Brasso and a chamois. But I sang to her today down the riverbank, like I used to with Little. Judy Garland's The Trolley Song and Sia's Alive.
She gave me the same shitey look Little used to.
And so it goes on. Life. A reminder to grab it wi both hands lest it slip through my fingers.
Missed you, shiny bosies to you all,
Wry xx ((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((andsqueeeeeeeeze))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))