On Soulmates

I was born in November of 1978, to a young couple who lived in a tiny cabin on a beach in the middle of nowhere, Canada. I don't remember that cabin, and I don't remember that beach. I don't remember the first couple years of my life, but that's fairly normal. Most people don't remember infancy, teething, learning to eat and learning to sleep. I remember very few things from my youth, but I remember my dog.

The first dog in my life, 1979

She was a floppy eared beagle kind of mutt, with soft brown fur, big brown eyes and a fleshy spot on her hip. I remember my mom telling me that she'd been hit by a car before coming to live with us, and we got her because the guy was going to shoot her. I'm sure in reality he was going to have her put down, and my parents offered to take her, but I always imagined a showdown. A puppy cowering in the corner, as the shadow of a big mean man with a shotgun loomed over her. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, my parents run in shouting, "No! Don't shoot that puppy!" and save the day, swooping the puppy up into their arms.

As kids tend to do, I loved that dog. I don't really have a lot of specific memories of my childhood these days, most of them have gotten foggy and started to fade. I remember the dog though, sitting in her spot by the door, wagging her tail and licking her sore spot. I remember when she got too old and couldn't really do doggy things anymore, and I remember when she left us.

When I was in highschool, I met a boy that I liked very much. He liked me too, and we started calling him my boyfriend. He held that role for a couple of years, and after we finished high school I moved into a house with him. I had a birthday in that house, and I remember him telling me that he was going to get me the best present ever. Of course, being the impatient whelp that I was, I made him tell me what it was.

"Well, I was going to get up really early and go pick up your present while you were still sleeping. Then I was going to put a big red bow on it, and put it on the bed and you would wake up to a little dalmatian puppy licking your face," he said. As awesome as that sounded, I wanted that dalmatian puppy RIGHT NOW.

My speckled friend, 1997

I know now that I wasn't the best dog-mom for that puppy. I was still just a kid, and the internet wasn't a thing back then. I didn't know how to train a puppy, and I didn't know how to care for a puppy. I thought that giving her food and water and love was enough - it was not. She needed training and structure as well, and I didn't know to provide those for her. She was a sweet, loving puppy, and she grew into a beautiful, loving dog. She was the most loyal little thing ever, and she had this way of smiling at you that was just so uniquely her. She'd waggle her tail and waggle her butt and show you her teeth in a shy, submissive manner, and you just knew she was so happy to see you.

After the relationship with my high school sweetheart ran its course, I couldn't care for her properly, and she went to live with my parents instead. Once she was being cared for properly, she blossomed. She became this wonderful little guardian that wanted nothing but to make her people happy. When my sister had her daughters, my speckled companion instantly bonded with them. They loved her as much as the rest of us did, and she loved them right back. One of my favorite photos of her is with my two eldest nieces hugging her as they all played. Everyone is smiling, even the dog.

When I left for Texas, I didn't realize I was leaving for good. My last memory of my faithful spotted friend is from the evening I left. I was wearing a black shirt, and I didn't want it to get covered in her fur, so I gave her a quick pat and I was off to the airport. That was in November of 2006, and in October of 2008, her health had degraded to the point where she had to be put down. I was absolutely heartbroken; I felt like I had betrayed her by never coming home to say goodbye. Even now, seven years later, the tears are flowing freely as I write this. I was married at that time, and my then-husband wanted desperately to get a dog. I kept giving him excuses, "Dogs don't belong in apartments, we should wait until we have a yard," and "We don't have time to take care of a dog, we should wait until we have time," but the truth was that my heart still ached for my dalmatian. I couldn't love another dog until that wound had healed.

In September of 2011, we purchased our first home together. It was a cute house with a big yard, perfect for a dog. My excuses were no longer valid and I prayed that he wouldn't call my bluff. I still wasn't ready and I didn't know if I ever would be.

One night that October, I had a very vivid dream. I was in the field at the elementary school down from my parents' house, running and playing with my dog. She was young and happy and healthy and it was just a magical, wonderful dream. I remember at the end of my dream, she ran up to me and I was petting and hugging her, when a voice spoke to me.

"Clare, I forgive you. I still love you and I always will, it's okay for you to love another dog, now."

I woke up, tears in my eyes and happy memories flooding me. For the first time in years, I felt like I was at peace with what had happened. I knew it was just a silly dream, and it was just my subconscious reacting to my concerns about the no-dog excuses I had made, but I was finally okay. I was finally ready to move on.

Mr. Chompers, 2011

When my then-husband awoke, I didn't mention it to him. It was a Saturday and we went somewhere for lunch. We were in the car heading back, when I said to him, "I think I'm ready to have a dog." He turned that car around immediately and drove straight to the shelter. We looked and looked, but none of the dogs there were right for us. We checked a pet store, and a couple of other shelters, but none of those dogs were right, either. There was one last shelter that we hadn't yet visited, called the Second Chance shelter. We headed there and that's where we found our dog. He was just a puppy, about 6 months old. He was a beautiful little golden retriever looking dog, and he came home with us that afternoon.

My then-husband left for a work trip the day after we got our pup, so I was home alone with him. His name came to me as I sat on our couch, working from home as I so frequently did in those days. I was using my MacBook Pro as the dog was sitting by my feet, chewing on a toy. I looked down at him frequently, to make sure he was still playing and not pooping or something. I had just finished telling him what a good boy he was when suddenly,  the screen on my laptop dimmed and it switched to battery power. Confused, I looked at my power cable and saw that the dog had gnawed his way almost all the way through it in seconds without getting electrocuted. I shooed him away from the cable and gave him a stern look.

"Well, you certainly are quite the little Mr. Chompers, aren't you?" I said to him, and it stuck. Mr. Chompers it was and Mr. Chompers it has remained - though I usually call him Chompers. 

From day one there was something about him that I just couldn't put my finger on. He had this look in his little doggy eyes that seemed like it was so much more than just a dog's stare. He was a very clever pup, and learned everything I taught him in no time at all. All of the toys for mental simulation that I bought bored him; toys for 'strong chewers' that were "guaranteed to satisfy even the toughest chewers" lasted minutes. He was completely obsessed with me and wouldn't stop giving me that peculiar stare. 

It was my birthday a month later, and of course that meant another dog. My then-husband referred to Mr. Chompers as his dog, and clearly I needed one too. I was very, very hesitant to get another dog; Chompers was fairly high maintenance and I was working all the time. He won out, though, and we found ourselves back at the same Second Chance shelter. 

Wriggley, 2011

I wanted a beagle; I remembered the dog from my childhood fondly and wanted another dog like her. I wanted the soft ears and the wiggly tail. There were no beagles at the shelter... but there was a dachshund. She was a scared little thing, and we learned that she had been surrendered by multiple owners for being "too destructive". I figured there was no way in hell that this little wiener dog could be more destructive than the reigning champion, Mr. Chompers, so she came home with us that afternoon. I named her Wriggley, as the first thing she did when she came home was flip onto her back and wriggle around in a circle on every surface she could find - it was adorable. Turns out I was wrong about her capability for destruction, she could tear a toy apart faster than Mr. Chompers could! She had little razor teeth and a jaw like a crocodile. The two of them bonded over Kong Extremes and the smelliest pig hooves ever to grace the Earth, and quickly became inseparable. 

Two more dogs would join that home before my time there elapsed, and while I did love one of them very much, his story does not belong here today. You're probably already quite confused as to why this entry is entitled 'On Soulmates' and has mentioned absolutely nothing about souls or relationships or love or anything like that at all. There's a very good reason for it, and I'm almost at the part where I'll make my point. First, I need to tell you just a little bit about my divorce.

I was lucky in that we were able to be adults about it. We sat down one evening with a spreadsheet and had a conversation about who would take what items. He'd keep the big TV, I'd keep the couch, we'd each keep our cars... and so on. When it came to the pets, he was to keep Mr. Chompers and one of the others, and I was to keep Wriggley and the cats. I was to keep the house. We decided this just before Christmas, and so for New Year's, my then-husband went to spend the weekend with his family while I did not. He left Mr. Chompers with me, so that I could have some time with him before I had to say goodbye.

When he returned late on New Year's Day, I was a wreck. My then-husband was baffled as to why, and he asked me what was wrong. I told him that I couldn't stand the thought that Chompers was no longer going to be a part of my life. He looked at me like I was crazy, and said to me, "If it means that much to you, you can take him with you. I can always get another dog."

I've never before experienced the feeling that I had when he said that. It was as though I had believed my life to be over, and I had been told that I was going to live after all. The surge of joy when I realized that I didn't have to give up another dearly loved dog was unlike anything else for me. We discussed terms, got out the spreadsheet and decided that if I was to keep Chompers, he would keep the house. Even now, years later, I still think I got the better deal.

If we are to assume, for the sake of argument, that humans have souls, let's also assume that it's possible for two souls to be linked together as soulmates. Personally, I like the idea, whether it's true or not. Faith is all about believing the unbelievable, so why not souls and soulmates?

I've had love come and go, a few times. I've been in a few long relationships and they have always ended; sometimes painfully, sometimes the love just faded away and left friendship in its shadow. I've loved family, friends, partners... and in each instance, I've felt the love fade away and leave something different. Maybe it's respect, maybe it's 'like', maybe it's friendship or nostalgia. I don't know the answer.

What I do know, is that every time a dog has entered into my life and touched my soul, they've left a real mark there. They've become a part of who I am, a part of my memories and a part of what I tell people when I meet them. "Hi, I'm Clare, I do ____ for a living and I have dogs." There's just something about them, the absolutely unconditional love that shines in their little dog eyes, the waggle of the tail (or the entire hindquarters in some cases!) and the whimper that says, "Hello, my beloved human! I've missed you, I am so happy that you're here now!" It doesn't matter how bad my day has been. It doesn't matter how much alcohol I had planned to consume that evening, it doesn't matter what part of my life is falling apart around me. As long as I have those little doggy faces, my soul is at peace. They keep me grounded in a way that no human ever has.

They are not my children.

They are not my pets.

They are my soulmates.

Wriggley and Chompers, 2015