As I rode I thought about pets. A couple of days ago my husband found a letter from 2010 we'd written to ourselves about adopting pets in the future. At the time we had a very hard dog. He peed in the house daily, barked constantly, was pushy and bossy, and rarely showed us any affection. He broke my heart into thousands pieces in the fourteen years he was alive. Having him for my dog was a major source of pain for me. I loved him, but it was clear to the people who really knew me that having him as my pet made my life worse.
We also had a sweet, mouthy calico at that time. She was fun. She absolutely hated the dog, though, and was barely ever around because of that. She'd show up at mealtimes and then b-line it for an upstairs bedroom or chair. If she could have she would have probably written us a letter begging us to never get another dog, too.
The problem with our cat was that she missed the litter box every day. I think this is because she was declawed. I totally messed that up. When I took her in to get spayed the vet asked me if I wanted her declawed as if it were the most reasonable thing to do in the world. Only later did I learn that many cats who are declawed end up having trouble with their litter boxes. So it was totally my fault that she had trouble with that. But, still, it was a nightmare. Between her and the dog, we spent a fair amount of time every day cleaning up urine. Plus, the cat puked a lot. And, truly, litter boxes are so ridiculously disgusting when you think about how cats track their litter all throughout the house including the bed.
Anyway, we found this letter and thought before we read it that it was probably written comically. We figured we were trying to crack ourselves up with all the absurdities of pet ownership. And it was amusing. We talked about rivers of urine and hairballs and the aloofness of the cat. But, truly, it was not meant to be funny. It was a plea for sanity. We talked about all the gross parts of pet ownership, sure, but we also wrote about the immense financial commitment. It's not just vet bills and the cost of food. Every time you want to travel you have to pay for care for them. And if you want to take them with you - like on an airplane which we did several times - there is the added cost of that. And it is not just rugs that the dog ruins. It's couches and chairs, too. It really adds up.
When I read the letter I felt a little sad for us back then. We were stuck. When you have a dog that doesn't show you love and destroys so much of what you own, it's no fun to be a dog owner. And I think because so many people have such wonderful experiences with their dogs, it's difficult to explain why your relationship with your dog absolutely breaks your heart on a daily basis.
So this was what I thought about as I rode. The letter, the plea for sanity, the costs of pet ownership - financial and emotional - and I was and am filled with compassion for my former self. I know how hard I worked every day to be a good dog owner. Three walks a day every day. Reading of training books and websites. Time spent training all the time. It was just a terrible situation. If I could go back in time and give myself a big hug, I would say, "You're doing great. I'm so proud of you. I know this dog breaks your heart every day."
It's such a lovely thing that we can know our own stories so well that we can be our own best friends. Reminiscing kindly of past struggles is a way of practicing self-love. And in our self-love rests healing. I believe that loving others is, hands down, the best thing we do, but it's true for ourselves, too. It's good to love ourselves, past, present, and future. It's good to be self-compassionate. I think self-love radiates right back out to the people we love in our lives, too. And that is such a wonderful thing.
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