dear_alistair tender_square (a letter i wrote to my corgi puppy on july 11, 2018, after michael and i returned him to the breeder after two short months) it was so hard to give you back today—i really thought we were your humans. it was nothing that you did, we just weren’t ready for you. i am so happy that you recognized sarah [the breeder], that you were happy to see her. i know that she is treating you well and making sure that you are taken care of. you deserve more than we can give you. i know how much you like to run around and our small kitchen is not enough for you. i’m sorry that the backyard was off limits except for that one time when wilbur [the groundhog] was gone and you got to explore to your heart’s content. i was too scared to let you out knowing he had returned because i’d never forgive myself for taking the risk if something happened to you [groundhog’s have rabies and are known to attack dogs]. i had so many plans for the future, so many things i’d hoped we’d get to do together. i’m sorry you never got to use your life jacket in grandma and grandpa’s pool, i think you would have really taken to it. i was hoping that i could train you into the kind of dog that i could take anywhere. this is harder to write than i thought it would be. i came upstairs because i can’t take how quiet it is in the house without you. at least up here i can pretend that you are resting in your crate, waiting until the next time i remove the towel and unlatch the gate to let you out. i know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will have a better life without us. i’m certain you will have more space and more attention and more structure than we could have given you. i’m sorry if i seemed distant today, but i think i needed to take a step back from you in order to let you go. i tried to be strong today. i keep wishing that you’d come back into our lives, at a later time, when we’re better prepared, and that we can pick up where we left off. the chances of that happening are impossible, yet the hope gives me comfort i need right now. you were a loud dog, but i miss the way your voice filled the house. it is much quieter now than it ever seemed before you and i’m having a hard time adjusting to it. the kitchen seems so big now without you. this house feels vacant. i cleaned up all traces of you because it’s just too painful. i cried throwing away the mats you used to sleep on in your crate, the ones you chewed open, disemboweling their stuffing. i put your crate into the closet because i can’t bear the sight of seeing it empty. you should have seen the amount of hair i sucked up with the vacuum! you’ll be happy to know that i waited until you were gone because i know how much that sound bothered you. i cleaned the yard of your land mines and i cried—i cried cleaning dried up poop!—because it meant you aren’t here to make more messes. i saw the graveyard of twigs, all the pieces you collected that i pulled from your mouth and threw over the side of the porch before you came back inside. i just tried watching some videos i took of you when you were mine, but it didn’t feel the same. maybe i have closed my heart because it has broken too much and needs to mend. tomorrow will be the first day without you. i’ve already planned to be out of the house because i’m not sure how i will manage without our schedule. 211021 what's it to you? who go blather from