Four-Legged Roomie


Even after more than two weeks, I imagine her sitting at the end of that little Ronan farm drive, waiting for me to come and pick her up.

We’ve had a rough few weeks at our house, and I think I’m finally ready to share. Our puppy had to move out. You might remember Kirby’s sweet intro from the new year. We only got to have her for a handful of months, but she made a big impression. A little more than 2 weeks ago she moved back to the farm where we picked her up in November. She was 7+ months older (through that rough puppy stage), tremendously loved, and really really reluctant to go.


Rewind: I resisted and resisted getting a dog. Simon has asked for a dog for as long as I can remember. My argument was always pretty simple. Dogs are a lot of work, our family is much too busy for a dog, we have cats, we have chickens, and we just aren’t in a good space for that added responsibility. I finally gave in, and we made space and time for a dog.


I fell hard, harder than I thought I might ever fall. She was my third baby. I slept on the floor by her cabin at night when she moved in, she slept in my lap on the couch, I hiked many miles with her. She was my constant, following me from room to room, loving me unconditionally. She wasn’t sure I was capable of sitting on the toilet without her help. She loved my boys, man did she love them! She protected us, a bit more than we’d hoped she would. We had to say goodbye, and that just isn’t easy.


Kirby had spent months displaying her discomfort around toddlers. We hired a trainer from our local Humane Society, who I cannot begin to say enough amazing things about. I worked with her. I poured it all in. It probably would have paid off, in a few years. We just didn’t have a few years of space for her to be unpredictable. We talked to the boys about how we couldn’t keep her. We took her on one last hike from the book we are muddling our way through. We drove her to that parking lot in Pablo, and passed her off to her new (old) family. Simon screamed at me in the car, “Why are you doing this?” “How can you do this to us?” I can’t. I still struggle, weeks later. Her cabin (bed) is still assembled in the closet, I don’t want to take it down and solidify. I’ve been slowly picking up signs of her from around the house and yard. I hate that we had to make that decision. “It isn’t fair!” It isn’t fair.


I’ll keep texting that farmer every few days to check on her, for as long as I (we) need to, or until he stops responding. I’ll keep laying in bed with my boys until they cry themselves to sleep. I’ll keep reassuring all of us that this is for the best. It is. It really is. I know things will get easier with time, but that doesn’t make it easier right now. She’s back with her Mama, where she needs to be, with room to roam and a whole farm to call her own. She will be happy.


I miss your sweet nose.


She did her job, and made us happy while we had her.

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