I’m feeling a little Frank the Pug lately. We’ve lived in the best house for the last five years; but we need more room, and it’s time to move. So we found a wonderful place to rent, and my heart’s all a-flutter thinking of how great it will be; but, still, this house. This great, beautiful, cute house, in its welcoming, cool, quiet neighborhood. This house, and the five years we’ve had in it. The move is the right thing to do, but it’s leaving me feeling Frank the Pug.
Frank was adorable: slim, for a pug, and young, but yet with whiskers and a gnarled face that’d make any walrus proud. Frank and I hit it off straight away, going for a walk around the block that featured a big poop just minutes after we met. There were tons of kisses, boisterous ol’ Frank jumping right up to plant one on me as I sat. Fifteen minutes in, we were besties, and I was making plans to take him home.
So we left him at the rescue for a night — he wasn’t ready to go home yet anyway, he needed a week or more to heal up from some injuries under constant care. And that was when the logic came into the situation. Frank was adorable, but he was a high-energy puppy coming into a home with two people who worked all day and an older, smaller dog who was the apple of our eye. Yikes, to say nothing of his fawn fur shedding next to Jake’s black.
He might be better with some kids in the house, to run with and work out that energy. We might be better with a smaller dog who couldn’t push Jake around. Frank wasn’t quite right for us; we weren’t quite right for him.
And then we met Charlie Bean. Jake and him hit it off straight away, and he was cute, and fun, and just right. But he wasn’t my Frank.
So, even though Charley had come to visit specially to stay with us, I sent him back to the rescue. And sat with Jake, and sat alone, and had a good cry, because my Frank, my new friend, would never be coming to my home. But instead, I’d get the dog whom I knew would be right, the dog who is the apple of my eye today.
I’m happy we picked Charley, and I’m confident I’ll be happy we picked the new house. But I’m sad for what I’m (correctly) saying goodbye to. Goodbye house, we’ve had the best times. I’ll remember you forever. You make me feel Frank the Pug.