Minutes of the 3 a.m. committee meeting in my head

I can't sleep. My former boss and friend Eileen refers to moments like this as the "committee meeting." You know, you wake up for whatever reason and suddenly the comittee convenes in your head, complete with agenda of urgent issues, unresolved problems, tasks to accomplish, deadlines looming, you name it. After that, sleep is a hopeless cause.

Like most meetings, the committee meeting is a Waste Of Time. It accomplishes nothing, except perhaps to cement what one had already been thinking on an issue or two. It is also, like most meetings, both inevitable and interminable.

Tonight's committee meeting concerned Clare, mostly. Despite what I said last month, I think I really am going to have to give her up. Himself and I are both at our wits' end with the housebreaking issue and I can't be home as reliably as I have been for the past five years to keep it at least stabilized. But God, I don't want to. Or maybe I do, and maybe that's the center of the problem in some ways.

I admit it, I long, I fucking crave to be a two-dog family. Two-dog families can find dogsitters without promising their firstborn children or groveling. Two-dog families can go backpacking and fit everyone into the two-man tent. Two-dog families can take longer walks because it is not some huge fucking acrobatic feat to keep the leashes from tangling and hold all the bags and keep all the dogs from straying to where they aren't supposed to be.

Clare is not an easy dog, either. We don't go to the beach much, even though we live very close, because she gets so sandy and wet and smelly that it inevitably involves a dog bath and the fragrance lingers in the car, cloyingly, for days. She is clumsy - can't jump on the bed without walking on you. Can't lie down without jostling you. Can't drink water without drinking too much and burping some up on the floor. Barky. Eats catpoo whenever she can. Kisses you wetly whever she can. Engages in eternal (loud, disruptive) wrestling matches with Dog Lakshmi during human telephone conversations, dinner parties, and morning ablutions. Makes gross grunting noises when licking her crotch. She's a dog's dog.

But I love her. I love every fat, stinky, steaky, farty, barky inch of her. She's been my puppy, my baby, my First Dog, my friend, and my consolation for the last five years. She's stuck by me through two boyfriends and countless flings, four moves, three jobs, richer and poorer, sickness and health. Who else could ever love her like I do? How could I betray her by giving her up? I would miss her, goddamnit, like a phantom limb. And I made a commitment when I adopted her. It's not her fault we live in a small condo with no yard (she had no housebreaking issues before we moved here.) It's not her fault that we have two other dogs...she came first, after all. It's not her fault that I am busy, or tired. She can't help shedding, or burping, or being clumsy.

I feel like the world's biggest heel.