Okay, so I'm moving to Tennessee after I graduate to go to Nossi School of Art. But they don't have dorms, so I'll have to be completely on my own. I have to take my dog with me, but since she's a pitt bull everyone thinks she's aggressive. But she's not, she pissed on herself on our birthday (we share the same birthday, I got her as a late birthday present) one year because there was so many people in our house and she was scared. But it's not like a landlord/lady is going to let me, a stranger, be an exception. I can't afford to pay the deposit to keep her, and she doesn't meet half the requirements. Either she's five pounds over the weight limit, or in one case a whole seventy one. Who the fuck owns a ten pound dog? I mean, honestly. But the main thing is her breeding, all of the restrictions say she can't be an aggressive breed. Just because of a stereotype I can't keep my dog. Unbelievable.
We've been together since I was fourteen and she was a puppy, I mean a puppy puppy. The day she was able to not have her moms milk I took her home with me, she was the most unique pup out of the whole litter. One light blue eye, and one chocolate brown. I remember it was hard for her to keep her little ears up and one always flopped down while the other was all perky and sticking up. She used to have the cutest little growl too, I'd flip her on her back and put my hand on her chest and shake her around a little, rough housing with her. Every now and then she'll still play like that with me, like she remembers too.
At first I didn't want her, because on my fourteenth birthday my old pitt died, she was a blue nose brindle, and I loved her. But someone poisoned her because of her breed and she died that night during my sleep over party. That is one thing I'd never wish on any little mean kid, cause it broke my heart. She tried to stand up and walk to me and my brother, but she couldn't, so she laid back down and whimpered and we sat there and pet her until she died. I buried her the next morning.
But anyways. Sad pathetic childhood set aside. I really don't want to leave her here in Georgia. I mean, I trust my brothers but I just don't want her to be away from me. Every morning she gets up at six o'clock and whines outside our house at my bedroom window until I get up and walk out on the back porch and she sits there all morning until I go to get on the bus and I'll go outside and play with her, and if she gets mud on my clothes and I smell like dog all day I don't care. Because I love her, she's special.
Once, when she was having pups of her own she was having problems and my mom told me to leave her be, if I touched the pups she wouldn't take care of them, but I knew she was wrong with her. And she was. I laid down next to her on the floor and rubbed her belly for hours, helping her push them out. And when she couldn't reach them to clean them, I picked them up for her and put them next to her head. She took care of them, and I took care of her and all eight of her pups. The day they were born she let me pick them up and play with them, and she didn't care. I'd sit them back in the box with her and she'd lick away at them.
Another time, when we took her to get spayed my mom told me she wouldn't be the same, that she'd be lazier and she'd gain weight and be mean all the time. I told her no she wouldn't, she won't change. And she didn't. She's only gained one pound in the past year and a half, and she's still as energetic and sweet as she could be. I guess the point of this blog is to just let it all out, even if you don't care about my awesome dog, or my stupid problems with growing up and letting go. This is for me, this is my vent system.
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