Once, I had a dog.
Wait…that wasn’t me.
That was my old boyfriend. He had a dog, a dog named Josie.
Josie was a black and white medium sized dog. She couldn’t live with Boyfriend, because his apartment didn’t allow pets. She lived behind the shed of a friend’s house. Every day, Boyfriend visited Josie and made sure she had enough food and water. Sometimes he would hide some cash wrapped in foil in the bag of dog food for his friend. The friend didn’t want his wife to know he was borrowing money from Boyfriend.
On the weekends, Boyfriend would take Josie to an open field. There, he would throw a frisbee for her to catch. When I was with Boyfriend, I would tag along. I gave Josie lots of pats, belly rubs and kisses. She was a good dog.
About a year into our relationship, Boyfriend was able to buy a small house. Now Josie could live with him. Sometimes, I waited for Boyfriend at the house when he was working. Then Josie and I would play together. I would throw a tennis ball from the bedroom to the living room and she would chase the ball and bring it back. She sat next to me and kept me company while I watched TV on the old couch as I waited for Boyfriend.
Josie was a great dog.
After Boyfriend and I broke up, I missed him, and I missed Josie. I missed petting her long fur and looking into her dark eyes. I missed playing catch with her. I missed her warm and open companionship. Her faithfulness. Her loyalty.
I wondered if she missed me, too.
I never wondered if Josie loved me. I never wondered if I said the wrong thing to her, or if I did something to make her mad. In Josie’s eyes, I could do no wrong. She was such a sweet dog.
I used to joke that I missed Josie more than I missed Boyfriend, but in the end, that might have been true. Boyfriend and I broke up over 15 years ago and I never saw Josie again. Maybe it was better this way. Even though Josie is probably no longer around, at least I have good memories of her jumping up to catch that frisbee.
She caught it almost every single time.
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