I think the hardest I’ve ever cried publicly was waiting in the ER of a veterinarian.
And by crying I mean CRY-ING! It was uncontrollable and uncomfortable. It was messy and it was gross. But it was quick and such a natural reaction. It was the type of crying that people hear and see but choose not to notice. The type you have to ignore, the kind that forces you to keep looking forward or stare even harder down at your phone. The record scratching kind of crying. Loud, visceral sobs that occur like hiccups and cut other people’s conversations creating the most awkward pauses.
One ear working to focus on the person they are trying to talk to while the other ear is betrothed to me, the dramatic dog mom in the corner who’s balling her eyes out: “I was thinking if… we… well… I guess since… maybe later… we get… the car… I parked it… I’m sorry but do you think she’s ok?”
Batz, my little puppy, my goofy little girl, got hurt. We were on a typical morning walk when something bit or strung her. She leaped a foot into the air from the pain! Then refused to put any weight on the hurt paw. Usually, she has a surprising high pain tolerance. Sure she can be dramatic when it comes to me leaving the house but typically, stubbing her toe or knocking herself into a wall when she’s too excited, Batz is super resilient and bounces back quickly. But this time was different.
This time even food couldn’t motivate her to move from her bed. And when I started to leave for work, grabbing my car keys which is always a sign to cause her serious stress, nothing happened. Just excessive licking, whining, and endless shaking.
What’s wild is a week ago I was in the human ER because for the past four months I’ve been experiencing my own weird, unexplainable, and mysterious health bullshit. My mental health has never been better but my body is like, “hey bitch, remember me?!”
My body is trying to tell me something but I can’t understand her. I can’t seem to translate the waves of pain, random fainting spells, sporadic heart murmur, and flashes of numbness that have been afflicting me.
And even then, I didn’t cry. But don’t get me wrong, I wanted too! I was about to start my period, I was at the ER from 6PM to 2:30 AM and still had work the next day. On top of the stress of thinking “how am I gonna pay for this?” I was having visions of obscene dollar amounts that would start blinking excessively in my head like a flickering neon sign with each test the ER doctor ordered.
None of that pushed me to tears.
What did it, was the sight of my wee baby Batz and her tiny skinny frail paw, bent and pressed tight to her body as the kind vet nurse took her to the back to run tests. How her prefect marble eyes were more bug eyed than ever before as she looked at me and I looked at her, until the sliding ER doors cut us off.
That?! That ravished through my body, knocking me back into the waiting room chair where I cried and cried and fucking cried. With no embarrassment or shame or care in the world.
I knew she was going to be fine. But it’s never the facts that smooth us out of those moments but the awful possibilities that keep us in that state of mind. The endless laundry lists of “what could have happened” that twist our stomach into knots and dehydrate our brain into a husks.
I am fully aware the terms “fur babies” and “dog mom” can come off as cringe. I can always see people who think they are hiding back their sighs and eye rolls when I refer to Batz as my child but honestly? Fuck you.
I made the conscious choice that I didn’t want kids of my own very early on in my life. But I still knew that I’ve always wanted to care or love for someone that wasn’t related to me and/or was fully just my responsibility. An animal can be that. They can be a company, a friend, a familiar that helps you navigate life. And getting Batz, rescuing her as a puppy, raising her by myself during a global pandemic was both the hardest thing in the world and also the greatest decision I ever made.
It took a HUGE toll on my mental health. I thought about giving her back SEVERAL times. I wasn’t sleeping, I was eating, and I was in a constant state of distraught. And one day, it got to be too much. I fully slumped over and slid to my kitchen floor and curled up into the fetal position. I was the worse person alive because I couldn’t handle a puppy.
That’s when Batz came running around the corner, full blown zoomies and saw me, her human mommy curled up on the ground defended.
She went to the other room and one by one, she brought me all her toys. She then barked a little, as though telling me "hello! I brought you toys." But that didn't help. Her next plan of action, licking my face. Which kind of worked because it made me giggle but I also hated when she licked my face.
After that, her last attempt, she joined me. She pushed her way under my arm pit and laid down on the floor with me. And together; we took a nap.
And I get it, Batz is just a dog but she's my dog. And I fucking love that dog. She's magical and strange and truly the definition of a creature. She barks like crazy when she knows I'm in the shower, she gets under the sheets when I'm sleeping, she annoys me when I'm eating, and her best friend is my dad because that man feeds her ice cream. She is a dog but she is a great dog. I've grown so attached to her and she has brought me so much joy.
Anyone would be so lucky to love something so much they are willing to ugly cry for them in publicly. That my dear reader is love.
