Failed Love

He stares with eyes as dark and deep as pools of melted dark chocolate. He lays his head upon my lap and the warmth of him seeps through the thin cotton of my capris.

I stroke his head. His dark, dark, so black it's blue head. I brush my fingertips over his eyebrows and they lift in expectation. I trace the lines of his jaw, his mouth, his nose. His lips are whisper soft under my fingers. My fingers continue to play, up, over his ears, stroking, tracing, memorizing.

He looks into my heart and I am so sorry. I have failed him. I am speechless before him now. He lifts his head and places his long snout onto the crest of my shoulder and brings his clumsy oversized paw up into my hand. This, his gesture of love, of submittance. This, his gesture that breaks my heart.

The children think of him as "theirs". But he thinks of me as his. I am his source of food, water, chewie bones and squeaky toys. I am his source of letting in and letting out and letting in and letting out and letting in and for heavens sake would you make up your mind! I am dutiful paw-wiper, ear cleaner, head-lump checker, and eye booger soother. I am the one who washes his linen with Tide and Downy, and sprays it with Febreeze, the one who soaked him in vinegar and baking soda after the neighborhood skunk got him... twice. I am the one who scratches his filthy hairy stinky hip and murmurs lovingly, "good boy Charlie, oh goooood boyyyy charlie..." or who says, "Wha'sup Chuck!" when I release him from his crate each morning.

I am the one giving him away.

Does he know? Is he maybe even relieved? Free of my constant harping, "Leave It! Quiet! Enough! Stop It! Go To Bed!" Free of my whining and scolding as I swiffer up his hair thrice daily whilst he gazes apologetically up at me from under his lowered head. Free of my complaining and my insensitive nudging him with a knee or my hip when he is underfoot. Is he looking forward to something other than endless days lying by the door waiting for me to let him in or out, endless days waiting so grieviously sadly for the chance to lay on the carpet once the baby is gone home for the day. Is he relieved to be released from his duty as keeper of our house, guard against all flying things and shadows, alarm for all external noise that could harm, our warning against eminent danger from the Yorkie across the street?

Initially, my children moan and cry. But they also say, "Oh! He'll love it there! Look at him swim! Look at him run!" We take them to see his potential new home - 13 acres of wooded land with a beaver pond and four small children to tumble and play with, two other dogs to snuggle and sniff with, a pen of hens to bark at, a bunny in a cage to cock his head at and perk up his ears at and twitch his funny funny expressive eyebrows at.

He will love it. He will. But I have failed him. I was supposed to be his forever home. Now I am actively seeking to release him and though the part of me that is sick and tired of the hair, the mud, the mess, the barking and whining and anxious pacing, the drool and slobber and whip like tail the upends coffee mugs and small children, THAT part of me is relieved and ready and sure... there is the part of me that is his mother. His pack leader. His sole source, his soul source. And I grieve.

My boy, my Charlie dog... peace be with you my funny face. Enjoy your days of romping and loping and streaking through the forest after squirrels and chipmunks, racoons, fox, and marking every spare inch of territory to warn off the coyotes and bear. Enjoy that your raucous barking and hound like baying will be welcomed when intruders come near the hen pen. Be free'd from a fenced yard, kids who are too busy to play, and a mommy who is too tired and too sad and too caught up in life to be a good mommy to you.

Be free'd from being scolded, reprimanded, sent to bed, locked up. Free now to stretch those long Dane legs, the strong Hound body and the instincts of the Lab. Free now to lay in the long tall grass and snap at flies and feel the warm earth soaking into your body instead of the cool waxed hardwood floors. Free now to roll and tumble and race with rough and brown little boys with tangled hair and dirty feet, boys who laugh and play and screech and throw things into the water for you to retrieve. Protect them now. They are your new family.

I'm so sorry Charlie dog. That I couldn't be for you what I wanted. That I couldn't provide for you the way you deserve. Accept my apology, and my attempt to find you the perfect home. I love you forever....