Story, The First: The Pug Who Moved To California
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in which case he probably really IS going to tell you everything. And you’re probably going to want to break all of his fingers by the time you reach page 500.)
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Before Thanksgiving I drove from Portland to San Mateo and back in a single weekend* to give Iggy a better home. He traded a one-bedroom apartment he was forced to occupy mostly alone while I worked and worked and worked some more for a house near the beach with a sun-soaked yard and multiple laps to occupy at all hours of the day and night.
I know how many of you appreciated and loved him, and anyone that ever met Iggy can attest to how surely he loved you right back, so routinely did he nearly asphyxiate himself out of sheer excitement whenever anyone walked through the front door. Letting him go remains one of the most emotionally challenging decisions I’ve ever made, and yet one of the easiest, too.
I didn’t talk publicly about my decision or the trip until it had already begun, and while it certainly might have looked abrupt from the outset (most decisions do when you’re not privy to the emotional or physical backstory), it was a decision a long while in the making, and the best for all parties involved, but most especially for Iggy.
I held him close the entire trip, paid attention to how and why I would miss him, took an excessive amount of pictures. We ran in circles at rest stops and made new friends in San Francisco and fell asleep listening to Pacific waves cresting and crashing steps away from a tent I pitched at midnight in Half Moon Bay. Like so many mornings prior, I awoke with a snoring pug curled against the small of my back.
The day after I said goodbye I started sobbing mid-run, still in San Mateo, sun warm on my face, the San Francisco Bay in front of me so bright and beautifully blue. Two days later I found this picture in my inbox, taken after Iggy’s first walk in his new SoCal city, and I haven’t cried since.
*Not at all recommended. Unless of course you have an Erin to play co-pilot, and a Hans and a Jen and a Matt for triple-team text support, and another Jen to play gracious hostess/distractor/non-judger as you start crying while petting her boyfriend’s dog.
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If you’re good at inference reading, you’ve probably already surmised this isn’t the only story I’m going to tell you. But it’s the only story I’m going to tell you today.
Tune in tomorrow (or maybe the next day) for more radical life changes!
I’ve been waiting very patiently to hear stories. I’m sad for you but happy for Iggy.
I too have been patiently waiting. I think I know what is going on. I’m sad for you and Iggy to be apart, but good lord he is happy.
I will miss that little guy!
Yay for Iggy and his snazzy new digs. I do miss his craziness. :)
I have a pug too and can relate to this post, the snuggling into your back, the snoring, the asphyxiated excitement, the way a only a pug can love you back. I can’t imagine how tough this decision was for you, but he sure looks happy in that picture. You did that for him.
I’m so sorry you had to go through that but I’m glad you had such a good support system. Hugs! And looking forward to more stories.
I’m glad you’re finally beginning to tell your stories. I am eager to read more.
Man oh man, though, I know how sad you must have been to say goodbye to Mr. Iggy. I’m sorry. But you made a good decision and I’m betting some of these future stories are gonna be happier :)
Happy new year!
You haven’t cried since, and for that I am happy. But now I’m crying. I know what it’s like to love a dog with all your heart.
I hope you’re going sad-to-happy with these stories, because if you’re going sad-to-more-sad, I’m probably going to have to stop reading them at work, lest I get “EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE” stamped on my performance review. Just kidding, we don’t have performance reviews.
I had a dog. She lived a long good life, but I tell you, I’ve never cried like I cried when she died. She was an overexcited, overweight, crotch-nosing, shoulder-jumping Golden Retriever, but she loved me so much. And for like a year in high school she was my only friend.
Let me get these tears out of my eyes. FYI, a vacuum cleaner does not work for that purpose, even with the brush attachment.
Well, what I originally wanted to say was that as hard as that may have been and may still be, that seems to have taken some real strength of character, and I really admire that.
I already know this story, but I’m still teary anyway. I miss Iggy, too.
(Sorry so late to read. Apex!) ;)
xoxo