Love as a Pet Project

reassigning my codependency issues to my dog

I gave my husband cards for all the usual occasions; his birthday usually meant two cards, one funny and one serious, and I celebrated so many anniversaries - wedding, the day he moved here, his sobriety - that the cards piled up on his dresser year round. I did other things to show my love for him and that I was thinking of him often. I picked up a fistful of his favorite old fashioned candy whenever I met my sister at the Cracker Barrel in Connecticut. I saved and sent him articles about his favorite bands, I cooked his favorite foods, I watched his favorite movies so we could take about them together. My capacity for love is endless and my need to constantly prove that love, to show in some other form besides an expressive “I love you” tacked on to the end of a text message always felt urgent and necessary. I am nothing without someone to shower love on.

When we seperated, I felt that loss immediately. I was suddenly left alone, without someone to shower with attention, without someone to spoil with expressions of adoration, devotion, love. Oh, I still loved him, but I felt like the right to show that love in so many ways was taken away from me; or at least the appropriateness of doing so was gone. I did have other people in my life I could buy cards and gifts for, but doling out those little tokens of love on a daily basis was something that kept me going and the loss of that felt acute and devastating. Who was I if I didn’t have someone in my life to pay attention to, to shower with feelings and affection, to accept the love I have to give? I was emptied of my capacity to love, and that felt terrible. My codependency issue showed itself again and again, day after day.

When Todd lived here he mostly worked from home when he wasn’t out at client meetings. He was here most of the day while I was at work and I never had to think twice if our dog Ren’s needs were being met. Todd fed her, walked her, played with her. When he left everything changed and I suddenly found myself at work worrying if Ren was lonely, if she was wanting to play, if she needed to go out. I’d get home from work and immediately feed her, walk her, before I did anything else. I showered her with love, trying to make up for the eight hours she was alone, to let her know I care for her. Then I started coming home for lunch every day - work is only seven miles away - so I could spend a few minutes with her; take her for a short walk, play fetch with her, give her head scratches and tummy rubs.

I bought her new toys to keep her occupied during the day. I leave the television on - usually on ESPN or something non-stressful - so it feels like she has company. I leave the blinds open so she can look out the window all day, and when I leave her, I leave her covered in a blanket so she’s warm and cozy. When we’re home, she’s at my side all the time, snuggled up against me. I give her some banana slices to make her happy, I show her dog videos on my laptop.

I’ve always given Ren my love and affection, but I’ve turned it up in the past few months and of course I know what’s going on here. While my marriage has ended, my capacity to love has not and I have to show that somehow, I have to express my emotions and take care of someone’s needs besides my own. Ren just happens to be the recipient of that. Sure, I have two kids whom I love dearly but they are not a captive audience to my affection, they are not with me all the time, they do not need me in the way I need to be needed. Ren fulfills all that.

Having a pet in a time of mental crisis is to have a form of therapy on hand all the time. The snuggles, the tail wagging, the affectionate dog kisses, they are all things that lift me, that make me feel loved and appreciated, and I’m glad to be able to reciprocate that unconditional love in the form of feeding, caring, walking, playing. Ren is my constant companion, she is company when I’m feeling that post-separation loneliness that fills my soul sometimes. I may not buy her cards for occasions, but I am still able to project that boundless love I hold onto her, and that’s got to be enough for now.

This is not an ode to my dog as much as it is an ode to my need to love at full capacity, to show that love in all ways possible, to not care if those expressions of love are reciprocated as long as they are received. I miss Todd, I miss having someone here to laugh with, to share meals with, to show affection to. My dog may not be a replacement for human interaction, but she does provide me with a chance to express love, to receive affection, to feel needed in a space where I want to feel useful and important. Maybe being codependent with my dog isn’t the healthiest way to recover my loss, but it’s certainly making both of us happy for now, and that’s got to be okay.