I am an ass. Let me just start there. No other way around it. Not only am I an ass, but I'm a careless one at that. And to make it worse, my kids have suffered for it.
The dog has gone back to the rescue group. It's been a brutal four or five days during which I snapped (after waking at 4 am because of the barking and spending the day scrubbing poo out of carpets.) Then there was bickering, negotiating, persuading and debating. The bottom line is that this dog, maybe any dog, needs more time than I have to offer. I have to figure out who can watch the kids, for instance, while I walk her in the morning for an hour. (She needs 1.5 hours of walking each day, not the 30 minutes we were told.) And in the afternoons, when Isabelle barks up a storm and I'm trying to get dinner on the table, I found myself barking at the kids to pay attention to her, feed her dinner, throw the ball, etc., none of which they were eager to do.
Within the span of the week, I already started getting kid push-back like: "I don't want to walk her, Mom. I'm playing Legos!"
A significant portion of this problem was created by my unrealistic expectations. I thought the work of taking care of a dog would be shared more evenly among the family. Of course, it wasn't -- and I should have known better. And it was a lot of work, more than I anticipated. My neighbors have since told me I looked like the walking dead since we brought home the dog.
I wanted to be able to give this to my kids. (I know, bad reason to bring a dog into your life.) I thought that I wanted it for myself. I thought I'd be able to handle it.
So, yes, I'm eating crow, big time. All the groups that rejected us as adopters were right, after all. I couldn't feel worse about the whole thing. My kids have suffered for losing her, Isabelle has been through yet another transition that could have been avoided, and Jarvis has had to watch this train wreck unfold. He saw the track we were headed down a month ago. Like I said, I'm an ass.
The kids have done amazingly well. They knew that the first two weeks were a trial period of sorts. (The rescue agency accepts the animals back gladly during this period.) But still, they loved her and it was devastating news to have to deliver. QB wailed for a half an hour when I told him and said,"It's like adopting a baby and killing her two days later!" Ouch. Mopsy took it in stride and barely even said goodbye to her -- the opposite of what I expected.
I went alone to New Jersey to drop her off yesterday afternoon. I expected to feel relief afterwards, but I only felt guilt and sadness. Who does such a thing as this? I cried half the way home.
This morning Mopsy woke up and remembered Isabelle was gone when she looked in the backyard. Then she asked me, "Mommy, today can we get a kitten?"
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