I Said I Would Never Leave You

Then I put you in your crate and handed you to a stranger.

Not long ago I was happy. Really happy. I’m not right now, not even a little. I’m not myself and it shows.

It feels like I’ve been plopped down in the middle of someone else’s life. It’s not mine, not yet. There are two things I need. My husband Cade, who still doesn’t know when he’ll be here. And Chase.

The thing I can actually look forward to is happening now. I’m sitting at the Gold Coast airport on my way to Melbourne.

Tomorrow I get to see my boy. Not because he’s being released from quarantine. Because they asked me to come and assist with his exam, then his release on Saturday.

Normally parents aren’t allowed in the facility, and for good reason. In this case it’s necessary.

You see, and it makes my eyes tear up to even write this, Chase isn’t doing well. My poor little sweet angel is scared to death and I can feel him wondering what the fuck is going on.

Where is my daddy? The one who said to me only a week ago, “I will never leave you.”

Then he put me in my crate, handed me over to strangers and I haven’t seen him since. They brought me to a place I’ve never been. Put me in a dark, very loud room, and I sat there alone for fourteen hours.

Then I was picked up by more strangers, brought to another place I’ve never been, more strangers, and put into a room all by myself.

This is my third time being placed in a room like this. Each time because someone decided they didn’t want me anymore.

The first time, it wasn’t really their fault. My family fell on hard times and we had to live in our car. They left me in there for hours at a time. The sound of motorcycles and busses still upsets me.

My second family got mad at me because I kept chasing their cats. I’m a terrier, I was born to hunt things! I don’t know any better.

They told me to stop, sometimes with their foot. It hurt me. I still chased the cats. I don’t know what came over me. Sometimes I didn’t even realize I was doing it. So they brought me back. I’m still afraid someone might kick me again.

Then my two dads came along.

The day we met was the best day of my life. I had just turned one year old. They were wearing funny masks on their faces, but I heard them say “forever family” to the adoption lady. I knew they meant it.

They loved me better than anyone I could ever dream of.

They knew I was afraid to be alone, so they brought me along wherever they could.

They knew I’m always cold so they let me sleep under the covers between them. They even gave me most of the bed. Even when they were both nearly falling off the edge they didn’t mind.

They knew I had more energy than both of them combined, so they took me on super long walks, sometimes five times a day. When we were done I would get a choice of exactly three treats, a treaty puzzle, or my special treaty ball filled with more than I can count.

And the toys! Every time they had to leave me with the babysitter, they brought me back a new one. My toy box was flowing over so much, I had to stick my whole head in there searching for the one I wanted.

Now here I sit, in this lonely room.

It’s comfortable enough, but they took away my bed, my blanket, my favorite koala toy that reminds me of my dad when he’s away working. Even the t-shirt both my dad’s took turns wearing until they were stinky. They left it in my crate so I would remember them.

The floor is warm here. There’s a bed and a blanket, but they aren’t mine. They don’t smell like me, my house or my dad’s. Everything smells different here.

When they take me to go potty, they don’t kiss me on my nose like daddy does, and tell me I’m the bestest boy he ever saw. No one makes sure I get covered all the way up under the blanket, even my tail.

It’s been eight days. Did my dad lie to me? Am I ever going to see him again? Is another family coming to rescue me?

I’m coming my boy!! I promise. We haven’t forgotten you. We love you more than anything in the world! I’m sorry I couldn’t explain to you what was happening.

Tomorrow will be hard. I still can’t explain to him that I have to leave him again. It’s going to feel like a cruel trick.

But they are letting me spend time with him. Hopefully he’ll eat something and we can play together.

Saturday I break him out of quarantine jail. I swear I’ll do everything I can to show how sorry I am.

I hope we both see it was worth it.

—R. Michael

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R. Michael is a former yacht chef, a married gay father, and a late-diagnosed neurodivergent writer. He tells his own stories, but he writes them for you, hoping you found something here to connect with. Ungarnished.

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