During the evacuation, I went with my shelter hosts to service at New Spring. I won’t go full into the sermon. It was the fourth in the series called “I am the Resurection” about the resurection of Lazarus. The main point is that he preached that this was an example of people being angry with God. I really think I missed the mark for many reasons. Mostly, I’ve never been mad at God.
Bad things happen and I’ve often been a glutton for punishment, but I’ve never felt that I was being punished by my faith.
The Story of Mizzou
I’m no stranger to tragedy. I’ve always said I’ve just been lucky enough that I was loved so much, it didn’t matter so much.
I stood in the snow watching everything I own burn barely comprehending them telling me a few more minutes and I wouldn’t have made it out.
I’ve narrowly avoided despite my name, probably due to my less than narrow hips, a life on the pole or in porn from all my daddy issues.
I am desperately asked to live tweet any family interactions. Who can forget the exile of my sister’s wedding or the last Christmas I ever spend in Alabama?
The heartbreak I am most known for is Mouffie (moo-fee).
After the house burned down, she was given to me to take away all the loss, the sadness, to fill the emptiness in me. She became my everything. Not my dog, not just my companion; my everything. She became the glue that held me together. As terrifying as that was for everyone who knew me, poodles live well into their 20’s. My glue would hold.
Mouf was killed by a dog daycare. There were no apologies. There was anger, attacks, and lawsuits against me. Word traveled around that it didn’t matter I had no money to take, they wanted to “break me.” Most of those days were a haze. I could barely function between my heartache, the disbelief, and wondering where one gets a $45k retainer for the war I had started over the murder of my 7 year old poodle. Through it, I remember my closest friend while trading off shifts (the early days no one left me alone for long, they were sitting Muffy), tell another she just wish they could see me. There was nothing left to break.
The same night Mouf was taken from me a poodle-chihuahua mix was brought into a local rescue. They had heard the rumors of my story already and didn’t know if they should reach out to me. When they saw my story on the news, they wrote to me. They knew my heart was hurting, would I maybe have room in my heart for a little pup to heal me? If not, they understood. They just wanted to help.
I met them only to be polite. Then the tiniest thing came out from hiding to curl up in my lap to sleep. It was the first time she had come out in days. She chose me and she saved me.
Mizzou became my constant companion. While this city I loved so much started to fail me, she was there.
When the vacation mat was pulled away from me and the water rose…
When my family turned away…
When I had to fight to keep the house…
When I asked the Junior League for help to be told to come back when I had more money…
When my mother used the U.S Postal Service then later my bank account to tell me she wasn’t going to be my mother anymore…
When my heart was wrong…
Mizzou was my constant companion. It was Mizzou I asked “where should we start new?” Of course, I failed her.
I bought that damn RV, that I grew to despise, and moved us to that trailer park where no matter how hard I tried, nothing good bloomed. I should have never come back from the evacuation. But, I did. I brought Mizzou back to die.
I heard her cry in the dark without realizing it was her last cry out for me to save her. Never in my wildest dream would I have ever thought she could wander that far. She heard me calling for her and was coming back to me when she was hit. Whoever hit her didn’t even stop. Who knows how many cars had passed by the time I got there. Someone held me back as a fire truck crushed her once more in front of me.
That’s the image I see over and over again asleep or awake, eyes open or closed.
I want to vow to never return to that trailer park where she’s buried under a tree. I’m trying to find a way to make that happen.
It’s time to live up to my name, time for Muffy to be on the move in hopes that it becomes Muffy on the Mend.
As for Charleston, I don’t know. The city I loved has brought more heartache then I can withstand.
The RV is for sale, immediately.
Aretha will join Tabby as an indoor cat in Greenville. They can bond over the 50″ TV that serves as her dowry. It isn’t that I don’t want her, she was Mizzou’s cat. That just hurts too much.
I’m heading north to Charlotte>Raleigh>DC>somewhere>Rochester>Cleveland and back to Chalreston for my 6th Johnson-Alexander Thanksgiving. They have already told me they have made arrangements with the expectation that I’ll bring a pup with me.
Somewhere along the way, there has to be a rescue or a shelter that has a pup for me. I’ll find a little female pup with enough poodle in her to not shed that needs me as much as I need her.
After Thanksgiving, hopefully I’ll be a “we” and we’ll head South to see the mermaids. I’ll be back for Feliz Navidad at the Alexanders. There will be no #MerryMexico without Mizzou. If my gypsy soul hasn’t healed by New Year’s we will follow the sun to the west, see if the saltwater of a different ocean heals me.