I'm in the process of giving up my pets, and it sucks. No, it's not a permanent situation, merely one borne of necessity as I attempt to resettle into an oversized city and get back to work. As soon as I'm able to acquire a place with a decent backyard, I'll retrieve my four-legged companions (all five of the bastards) and live happily ever after... at least in terms of cats and dogs.
I've done it before with two of my dogs (Jasper and Starbuck), but this will mark the first time that I'll be separated long-term from my alpha male (Jax, who's very close to getting his nuts chopped off) and the two most loyal cats I've ever known (Kay and Sagremor). Oh, there's a possibility Jax's adopted mother won't be able to handle him and he'll wind up with me in the city of angels, but until that presents itself, I'm planning on not seeing him for a while.
And it sucks.
I'm not a worrier. That gene seems generally absent from my DNA, but I am going to feel a bit sad at not being able to run and spoil these guys (yes, they're all male... that's another story). I know this beyond any reasonable doubt. A while back I drove to Las Vegas for some work. This drive marked the first time I made a long-distance drive without my dogs in the back of my truck. I couldn't help but checking the bed every so often to make sure they were doing okay, even though there was nothing back there.
And now I'll be making another long-distance drive to drop them off with a friend of mine so I can concentrate on getting back into the industry that I left over a year ago. And it sucks. I can already see myself suffering from depressing separation anxiety on the drive back. It's bad enough that I've already left my two cats with my reluctant but willing sister. I feel as though I'm somehow punishing them for their loyalty (that, too, is another story).
But, people have to do what they have to do.
It still sucks.
Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
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