Crotchety Old Bitch
In August, my husband and I adopted a dog named Ellie; then we immediately turned into insufferable millennials who talk about said dog way too much. It's amazing.
Ellie is a bundle of contradictions: She likes her own space, but she has to be in the same room I am. She's sweet and likes people, but only on her own terms. She's skittish around strangers and loathes kids. She gets cranky if she's not in bed by 8:30, hates to get up in the morning, and is relatively sweet until someone gets in her face, at which time she'll snarl, growl, and--in the case if my in-laws' dog--attack with teeth bared if you don't back up. She's sweet and cranky at the same time; cuddly and stand-offish; loves walks but gets winded after 6 blocks.
Y'all. Ellie is me.
Let's review: Dislikes strangers, children, and exercise. Always wants to be in bed. Sweet, but will attack you right in the face if you tick her off.
Me.
We ended up adopting Ellie because her previous family--who had her for nearly ten years-- surrendered her. They had a toddler and another baby on the way; Ellie's penchant for snarling and snapping at kids when she gets scared meant she couldn't stay with them anymore. She needed a house without children or other pets. They loved her (I'm sure), but it just wasn't the right place for her.
Yet, as much as I love to ramble on about my dog, she's actually not quite the point here (though using her as a metaphor is a fantastic excuse to plaster her face all over this post). See, Ellie is perfect for us, and sometimes I'm sort of dumbfounded anyone could give her up. But she's not for everyone. She's not perfect and her family couldn't handle her issues. She is, in short, a crotchety old bitch.
Do I really need to say it again?
The past couple months haven't been the easiest for me. The past three weeks forced me to spend a lot of time thinking. One day, I hit a point where I was carrying around a lot of blame. I was angry at myself. And then a wonderful, intelligent woman I know (hi Sarah!) sent me a message and reminded me that sometimes we fit in people's lives, and other times we don't. Sometimes people don't appreciate us. Sometimes people find us annoying or messy. Sometimes we do the best we can, and it's still not right.
Sometimes, all of that just still means we're just fine the way we are.
See, Ellie isn't perfect, but she is who she is. All she needed was to find the right place--the right people--for that to be okay. Her previous family loved her, but they weren't that place so they let her go. And when I look at her sprawled out next to me on the couch, I remind myself I have my place too. I have my people. And sometimes I can care about people but still know those people aren't my people. That's not always an easy thing to accept. It's broken my heart in a million different ways, but it doesn't change that essential truth.
There are things about ourselves we will always be working on--I'm trying to be more patient, less judgemental, and more tolerant of middle-aged women (partly because I know I'm teetering awfully close to being one). But there are things about myself I just can't change: I will always be prone to emotional reactions and sentimentality, uncertainty will always make me crazy, and slow drivers in the left lane will always send me into a blind rage. I might not love all these things, but I no longer see them as weaknesses. They just are, just like Ellie--try as she might--just can't handle kids, other dogs, or staying up past 9:00 pm. The best I can ask for is to surround myself with people who can accept the good with the not-so-good, people who don't see those things as flaws but just part of who I am; people who are my people. Because they're out there. They're all around me.
So Ellie found her people. I'm learning to recognize mine. We've bonded over this shared journey, I think. And I think we're both at peace with it.
We'll be the first to admit--we're just a pair of crotchety old bitches.
But see, we're just okay with it now.
Ellie is a bundle of contradictions: She likes her own space, but she has to be in the same room I am. She's sweet and likes people, but only on her own terms. She's skittish around strangers and loathes kids. She gets cranky if she's not in bed by 8:30, hates to get up in the morning, and is relatively sweet until someone gets in her face, at which time she'll snarl, growl, and--in the case if my in-laws' dog--attack with teeth bared if you don't back up. She's sweet and cranky at the same time; cuddly and stand-offish; loves walks but gets winded after 6 blocks.Y'all. Ellie is me.
Let's review: Dislikes strangers, children, and exercise. Always wants to be in bed. Sweet, but will attack you right in the face if you tick her off.
Me.
We ended up adopting Ellie because her previous family--who had her for nearly ten years-- surrendered her. They had a toddler and another baby on the way; Ellie's penchant for snarling and snapping at kids when she gets scared meant she couldn't stay with them anymore. She needed a house without children or other pets. They loved her (I'm sure), but it just wasn't the right place for her.
Yet, as much as I love to ramble on about my dog, she's actually not quite the point here (though using her as a metaphor is a fantastic excuse to plaster her face all over this post). See, Ellie is perfect for us, and sometimes I'm sort of dumbfounded anyone could give her up. But she's not for everyone. She's not perfect and her family couldn't handle her issues. She is, in short, a crotchety old bitch.
Do I really need to say it again?
The past couple months haven't been the easiest for me. The past three weeks forced me to spend a lot of time thinking. One day, I hit a point where I was carrying around a lot of blame. I was angry at myself. And then a wonderful, intelligent woman I know (hi Sarah!) sent me a message and reminded me that sometimes we fit in people's lives, and other times we don't. Sometimes people don't appreciate us. Sometimes people find us annoying or messy. Sometimes we do the best we can, and it's still not right.
Sometimes, all of that just still means we're just fine the way we are.
See, Ellie isn't perfect, but she is who she is. All she needed was to find the right place--the right people--for that to be okay. Her previous family loved her, but they weren't that place so they let her go. And when I look at her sprawled out next to me on the couch, I remind myself I have my place too. I have my people. And sometimes I can care about people but still know those people aren't my people. That's not always an easy thing to accept. It's broken my heart in a million different ways, but it doesn't change that essential truth.
There are things about ourselves we will always be working on--I'm trying to be more patient, less judgemental, and more tolerant of middle-aged women (partly because I know I'm teetering awfully close to being one). But there are things about myself I just can't change: I will always be prone to emotional reactions and sentimentality, uncertainty will always make me crazy, and slow drivers in the left lane will always send me into a blind rage. I might not love all these things, but I no longer see them as weaknesses. They just are, just like Ellie--try as she might--just can't handle kids, other dogs, or staying up past 9:00 pm. The best I can ask for is to surround myself with people who can accept the good with the not-so-good, people who don't see those things as flaws but just part of who I am; people who are my people. Because they're out there. They're all around me.
So Ellie found her people. I'm learning to recognize mine. We've bonded over this shared journey, I think. And I think we're both at peace with it.
We'll be the first to admit--we're just a pair of crotchety old bitches.
But see, we're just okay with it now.
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