Eating A Booger That Wasn’t Mine, A Good Bye Story
Today was a hard day.
It was the climax of a three week initiative to rehome my sweet dog, Murphy. We adopted Murphy almost four years ago from a rescue organization in Arkansas. He was homeless and picked up on MLK Boulevard in Anytown, AR, then brought to New England during a polar vortex, where he had to have been contemplating his general existence when he stepped off the transport truck and into the winter air, feeling the bullshit temperature that his new home had to offer him. It was the day after my 39th birthday…in January. I had guilted my husband into agreeing to another fur baby by playing the birthday present card. See, I would have 1,000 dogs if I could. Hubs is more of a one dog kind-of-guy. Sometimes a girl needs to resort to diabolical strategies. That’s all I really have to say about that.
Anyway, I digress. Despite all of our time together, Murphy never really stopped being a weirdo. He is anxious and exhibits fear-based aggression at times. (Did I mention he’s part pit bull? He is.) So, when the anxious weirdo with fear-based aggression learns that he can break out of our fenced-in yard by throwing his body weight against the gate to escape, he instantly becomes MORE of an anxious weirdo with fear-based aggression, and has full reign of the neighborhood. Not a good look. Neighbors don’t love him. Neither do house guests. Or delivery drivers. So, for the last three weeks we have found ourselves in search of a home that is a better fit for Murphy - a home without loud kids, and play dates, and online shopping addictions. And we found one! Today was the rendezvous day. And it sucked. I kept telling my sweet boy, “It’s not because I don’t love you. It’s because I love you the most.” My brain knows that’s true. But sometimes it’s hard to convince your heart.
Now, you may have read in an earlier post that I have diagnosed depression and anxiety. I knew today would be hard. And it absolutely has been hard. My eyes are puffy and red, and they hurt from so much rubbing with tissues. I’m dehydrated from all of my crying. But I knew it would be hard, so I prepared for it. Here’s what I did:
I cleared my schedule for the day. I gave myself time to feel the feels.
I wore cozy clothes.
I changed my sheets in advance of the big drop. I knew I would retreat to my safe place. And I did.
I saved recordings in the DVR queue to watch: Holiday Baking Championship, Winter House, and Project Runway.
I stocked up on gummy candy. My body likes Haribo Twin Snakes and filled Twizzlers when it’s sad.
And as a bonus, hubs bought me some wine yesterday, just in case.
Now that I have set the stage, let’s get back to the title of the blog - Eating a Booger that Wasn’t Mine. When I’m stressed or angry or sad, or essentially feeling any “negative” emotion, I clean. Or organize. When I returned from the rendezvous, as luck would have it, and as luck always has it with two gross sons, my house needed to be cleaned. I began putting toys away and folding blankets that belong on the couch. Then I noticed a smear of peanut butter on our TV console. Sometimes, when I notice smudges like this, or spills, like yogurt, it seems easier to lick them, rather than go through the trouble of finding cleaning supplies. (I do this with stray floor snacks, too, like cereal or Goldfish.) So I wiped the peanut butter off of the console with my finger and then licked my finger. And guess what? It wasn’t peanut butter. It was someone else’s booger.
I recounted the tale to Max, my 10-year-old, expecting sympathy. Instead, he told me, “That was an eye booger I took off of Murphy this morning.” The silver lining is that Murphy will always live on inside of me. The opposite of a silver lining, whatever that may be called, is that I ate a booger that wasn’t mine. It is one thing to eat your own booger. It is quite another to eat a booger belonging to another person.
So, a “Tale of Two Boogers.” It begs the age-old question of which is grosser? A nose booger from another human? Or an eye booger from a dog?
What do you think?
