You're Never Going to Be Ready

Originally written 12/01/2015

I said goodbye to my little dog this last weekend. He and I have been together almost every single day for the last 8+ years, commuting to work - him sleeping in his tiny bed on my desk - and me tapping away on a computer. He's been on set with me, at the beach with me, at dinner parties with me, at bars and Broadway shows with me. He's been an ever present eight-and-a-half-pound shadow to my life, usually never more than a few feet away from me. He's charmed every boss + co-worker that's come across his snaggletoothed face, and made countless friends in the process.

And the lessons he's taught me are so many. About commitment, about devotion, about big love, and maybe the biggest lesson that he continues to teach me is that you're never going to be ready. I wasn't ready for a dog when I ended up with this sweet little tan-and-white Chihuahua, whom I took on because the friend who had him went into a rehab facility and he (Spanky the dog) had nowhere else to go. I lived in an apartment that didn't allow dogs at the time, and so I moved because I had fallen in love with his miniature face and velvet ears. Our first studio apartment's address was 808 3/4, which was an appropriate approximation of how much of an adult I felt at the time.

I wasn't ready to shoulder the responsibility of having a dog in the city when I moved to New York shortly thereafter, and yet, we made it work. I wasn't ready to handle the countless walks, vet appointments, late-night-sick-as-a-dog moments, but I did it anyway. And through all of it, he maintained his beacon of love for me, his borderline obsession with me, his big epic love for me.

And last weekend as I said goodbye to him, I wasn't ready, again. Not ready to say goodbye. Not ready to hold his tiny little body one last time, not ready to kiss his face and tell him what a good boy he was. So, so, so not ready. And yet. I did it anyway. Because it was time. Because that is the price of admission for love.

And I'm reminded now, that the majority of the time, you won't be ready for the big (and small) moments in your life. And you should do it anyway.

Yours in giant eyes and heart-shaped noses,

Bryce

P.S. I've been loving the stories people have been sharing about Spanky and/or their own pups. If you've got one, I'd love to hear it.