It’s extremely difficult to be 42 and living with your father. I have never lived on my own. Even when I was making $40,000/year and could move out, I didn’t. In the deepest darkest part of my mind I knew if I was on my own I would self-destruct. I’m annoyed that I have to ask permission about things because it isn’t my house. Technically it will be in the future but I don’t want to think about that. My dog that passed away was really more of a Therapy Dog for me. The other 2 dogs pay attention to my dad or sleep. Now that my dog is gone I’m devastated. I had seen 2 Chihuahua brothers up for adoption at a local rescue. One is long haired the other is short. Their names are Ham and Eggs. They can’t be separated. I went to check them out. The posting said that they take some time getting used to people but once they know you they are great. I sat in a little room in a submissive position with my head down. The woman opened the door and those 2 dogs ran to me and jumped in my lap like they had known me forever. I was petting them and giving them love when the woman asked said she would be back in a few minutes. They are both all black with one pat
ch of white on their chest. I normally don’t like short haired Chihuahuas but this one was incredible. If you looked at him in the right light he was actually brindle. Next thing I knew the entire staff was watching me through the window. I though I did something wrong. It was the exact opposite. I was the only person these dogs had interacted with this way and they were surprised.
My dad said no. I have done nothing but think about them since that day. I’m angry that he keeps letting his pigeons grow in numbers. He’s up to almost 300. They’re bad for his health and mine. I’ve never said a word about them not even when I had to help vaccinate all of them. This involves sticking a needle in their necks. I stuck myself a few times. I have several autoimmune diseases. But he needed me so I did it.
When it comes to allowing me this, something that would be considered therapy for me, and would help the other dogs because they have been down since Pookie’s passing, he says no. I feel like a child who had their lollipop stolen.
When I grieve it’s for a long hard time. Things are so rough right now, I just wanted something good. People tell me to just move out. It isn’t that easy for me. There’s money and I don’t want to live in housing afforded by the state. I’ve seen where my Aunt who is mentally ill has lived and it’s awful. Plus I’m scared and I love my dad. I’ll just have to suck it up.