As If That Weren't Enough...

Auggie has been taken. After three unsuccessful adoptions over the course of almost a year (the first two had extenuating circumstances at the last second, the third proved to be too flaky for comfort), we finally looked into pug rescue. Surprisingly (to me, at least), the rescue could provide a far better adoption process and much more rigorous qualifications and accountability than we ever could. After painstakingly checking references and discovering that we were linking up with what might be the best dog rescue in the country, we applied to surrender Auggie just yesterday afternoon. By some alignment in the stars, the local representative happened to be heading to the rescue at 8am today, and roused us out of bed for a 9am pick-up. It seemed so abrupt. So disturbing... or disconcerting.

I now feel like beef jerky. Kevin asked me what that means. I said brittle and worn, and inanimate. But I still think beef jerky is better. It makes me sound like a jerk, too, which is a little how I feel. The crazy thing is Auggie will be happier. I was doing my best, but it wasn't enough. We have no money. We have no time. We have no patience. If anyone should be getting the scraps of us after four jobs and a skin-tight budget, it's each other and our children. Not Auggie. Poor Auggie.

It's like a death: a pet death. And like a pet death where it's your fault. I keep expecting him to come bounding around the corner. I keep thinking to myself, Better let Auggie in. Has Auggie been fed yet today? And I open the laundry room door, pause with surprise where his crate was, and is no more.

I have to admit, in response to the nagging feelings about feeding him, shuffling him, doing for him--even on this first day of absence--I sort of think, "Oh!" and then feel a weight-absent. But then I notice the hole.

Auggie is now a hole, which will undoubtedly grow over with time.