Monster.

I know I swore I wouldn’t talk about “the dog thing” publicly anymore because I didn’t want to invite judgment, but this is my blog and I will cry if I want to.  Today, we’re driving out to my husband’s brother’s house to test out the new canine living situation.  I have been so frustrated with her and so sad for her (because she spends her days sleeping on a reclining chair while we’re at work and then is hesitant to go for walks because she hates running into strangers) that I have previously considered his brother’s out-of-the-blue offer to take her to be a sign.  We should try this out – why else would he randomly bring it up?

However, this morning, I am physically ill about it.  I’ve cried.  I’ve been a raving lunatic to my husband because he is being pretty calm (read: sane) about the situation, saying things like, “If it doesn’t work out, we can just go pick her up,” and “You don’t have to come with me if it’s too hard for you,” when all I really want him to say is, “This is the worst thing ever and we are terrible people and I also want to throw up everywhere at the thought of her adorable little hound dog eyes staring out the window at us as we drive away.”

I am absolutely sure that this is the best thing to do for the dog, as she is miserable here.  I’m pretty sure it is the best thing to do for 1) my brother-in-law, who is recovering from a freak illness and just recently lost a dog and 2) my father-in-law, who is retired and home alone all day and who was devastated by the loss of their dog.  They will really benefit from having her around and will spoil her with attention like we can’t around here.

I’m just not sure it’s the best thing for my fragile emotions, because I feel like a monster.

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