Shelley Widhalm

Archive for the ‘Missing each other’ Category

Missing Zoey

In Best Friends, Missing each other, Separations, Sleeping companions, What's important, Wrapped around Zoey's paw on September 26, 2010 at 4:51 pm

I don’t like that I have to leave my dog Zoey at my dad’s house, but after the fight with my mom, who I’m living with for the time being, I will have to do so (at least from Oct. 16, 2009 to October of this year, when I will be moving into my own apartment).

Zoey has been staying with me one out of every six weeks when my dad travels to Nebraska for treatment for his macular degeneration, as I’ve mentioned before. I visit my dad during one of the weekends in the interim if I can fit it with working every fifth weekend and whatever else comes up.

A few days before I pick her up, I talk about her more and get excited about spending time with my favorite girl. I love sleeping with her tight against my side and getting doggie kisses in the morning. We play after I get home from work and every once in awhile, she’ll accept being a lap dog for about five minutes while I read. But mostly, I sit on the floor to do bills or type on my laptop because she wants me at her level.

I’ll admit I’m a bit of a pushover, but at the same time, I’ve come to see Zoey as my best friend. I never feel lonely when I’m with her, but I will on occasion when she’s gone. Sure, I have friends, but they don’t want to play every day after work, now that we’re in our thirties. I miss how in elementary school, I could walk down the street, knock on my best friend’s door and ask, “Can you play?” Now, I have to call or Facebook, plus go through all these antics, just to plan a coffee outing. Life is so complicated being an adult. I miss the simplicity of childhood, and I love the straightforward relationship I have with my dog.

Zoey’s Practice Goodbye

In Dad's house, Hard goodbyes, Leaving Zoey, Missing each other, Uncategorized on September 12, 2010 at 4:34 pm

Zoey enduring one of my hugs.

Zoey stays with me every one of six weeks, because my dad, who is caring for her, has to travel to Nebraska to get treated for macular degeneration. He used to live there and did not want to change eye doctors when he moved to Eastern Colorado in August 2008, coincidentally the same month I moved to Northern Colorado from Alexandria, Virginia.

A week after I took Zoey to my dad’s house, I talked to him on the phone, and he said she was doing just fine and loves his big backyard. She is very social and likes attention wherever it comes from, and it seemed she didn’t miss me.

But I know the truth. I had visited my dad in mid-July. While I was there, he fixed something minor in my car, which I had to move back to the driveway to load it up with Zoey’s and my stuff for our drive back home.

Dad held Zoey on his lap, but she saw me “driving away” and started squirming, yelping and crying as if I was going to leave her. I didn’t, of course, and hugged her after locking up my car. But I got no kisses back. It seemed that Zoey figured she was safe with me back in her lair.

Fourth of July without Zoey

In Holidays, Leaving Zoey, Missing each other, Weathering the weather on July 5, 2010 at 2:38 am

Zoey and I decided to take a break from talking about our first 18 months together to describe our Fourth of July. Zoey is a miniature dachshund I adopted from a mall pet store almost 16 months ago when she was nine weeks old.

Zoey and I started out the weekend day as usual – a kiss indicating it’s time for me to let her out – and a return to bed for a lie-in. Zoey pulled on my hair – Come on, let’s play! – and jumped on me, but I wouldn’t move, so she gave up, curling into her cuddle spot on the pillow I hug.

My father, who lives in Eastern Colorado, came at 11:30 a.m. for a weekend visit, and Zoey did her welcome dance, consisting of barking, jumping on and off the easy chair and lying on her back, inviting a belly rub. Zoey got in an hour of playtime, and then Dad and I went to coffee before she could convince us to play more.

Dad, Mom (who I live with) and I went to my brother’s get-together with his friends. Zoey wasn’t invited because of her tendency to potty on the carpet when excited. At the four-hour limit of leaving Zoey, a pre-tornado dipped down from a wall cloud and the rain ripped. Everyone there agreed we should wait out the storm, and so we did. I started worrying about Zoey, a dog that needs lots of attention, but who also is fine with sleeping. We left an hour after planned, and Zoey was just fine. I didn’t need to worry about the dog I treat like my little girl. I will miss out on the fireworks tonight, if they don’t get canceled by the rain, because I will be staying with her, riding out her barking at the bang-bang, reminding me that another summer is going by.

Tough Goodbye

In Leaving Zoey, Missing each other, Mondays vs. weekends, Puppy bonding on June 28, 2010 at 3:05 am

I didn’t want to leave Zoey, the miniature dachshund I had adopted from a pet store in February 2009, for whole days at a time to go to work, though I knew my mother would be dog-sitting her. I especially did not want to leave her the first Monday morning after I brought her home, in part because I prefer weekends to Mondays, and second, I wanted to hang out with my new friend.

My mother called me at work that afternoon. She said she was downstairs ironing, and Zoey had followed her, like she had been all day because I wasn’t there. Zoey was under my bed and wouldn’t come out. “She misses you,” my mother said, explaining that Zoey was whining and whimpering.

“I miss her, too,” I said.

My mother had advised me to spend as much time with her as I could, so we could bond.

That wasn’t a problem for me. My problem was letting go. I kept thinking about her all day while I was at work. I realized what kind of mother I would be if I had a child, but I’m not married and not prepared to handle single motherhood. So Zoey, over the next few months, became my girl. I spoiled her with toys and teddy bears from the pet store, treats, things to chew and doggie clothes, which she, of course, will not wear. She slides out of them, or she’ll roll or run or whatever it takes to be free and herself again.