Nesta, on the gondola in Telluride last summer.
Until yesterday.
Alex and I took Nesta for a walk (note the irony). We decided to have a once-and-for-all conversation about this whole dog business.
"Why do you even want a dog?" He asked me.
"Well, I've thought a lot about that." I have, honestly. Although I may seem impulsive to outsiders, I actually like to think long and hard about bigger decisions. I just am not one to vocalize it to my friends and family all the time. "I want a dog because I think I would be a really good dog owner. I have this recent inclination to love and nurture something, and people really seem to enjoy their pets. I want in on a relationship like that."
"I think you just want a baby and since you can't have a baby NOW, you want something that you can have NOW, so you want a dog."
For the record, I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, think a dog and a baby are synonymous.
"No, no, no. I am not even sure I am ready for a baby yet. But I feel like caring for a dog is a good first step. And with everyone telling me I won't be a good dog owner, it makes me question my own capacity for motherhood. Why is it you want to get me pregnant, but you no faith I can take care of a dog?"
"It's not like that, at all. I think you'd be a great dog owner and a great mom. Let's make a deal, how about you let it go unt-."
I interrupt him mid-sentence.
"I do NOT want to wait until I go back to work," I whine. "I have the time, energy, and desire for a dog this summer, when I can dedicate my free time to training it properly."
"You didn't let me finish. I was going to ask you if you can drop the whole dog thing until we get back to Portland."
"But I already HAVE let it go. Remember when we got in that dog fight before we went to dinner at that Lebanese place with my dad? I let it go for awhile after that. And it's back, with a vengeance. At what point am I supposed to trust myself, maybe even learn from my own mistakes, rather than listening to all the old, cynical men in my life who don't think I should do anything but work and save money?"
"Well, what about trying it again? Letting it go until we get back to Portland? You can't get a dog here in Tahoe anyway. That's just dumb."
"You mean let it go like that butterfly quote? Something about 'let it go and if it comes back to you it's yours.'"
"Uh, sure. But you have to ACTUALLY let it go. You can't just tie some invisible fishing line to the butterfly and then say, 'See, look, it came back. That means it's mine!'" He smiles at me. He looks pleased with is witty little analogy. But also endeared to me that I might have actually considered doing that.
"Fine, fine. I'll drop it until we get back to Portland. But you have to re-consider the topic then. This can't just be some tactic to delay telling me a final, definitive 'no'."
"Okay, if you agree to stop talking about dogs, then I'll agree to re-visit this when we get home."
Needless to say, I have stopped talking about the whole dog thing, but I haven't stopped thinking about. I am weighing in my mind the pros and cons of dog ownership. What if we do get pregnant soon? What about the financial costs associated with a puppy versus an adult dog? I have the time now, but will I be annoyed of a needy creature come work time? Do I want a dog just because I think it will help get me back into shape? What if it shits in the house, am I going to try and pawn it off on Alex? What about when the days are short and it's rainy outside, will I still be dedicated to walking the dog? Am I stable enough to make a 10-15 year commitment?
These are the things getting tossed around in my head, like a small load of laundry in a big, industrial-sized dryer. And I don't think I'm keeping the butterfly on a string. I am simply thinking about the butterfly, willing it to come back my way. If, and only if, it is indeed the right decision for me at this juncture.
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