Beefy Life Lessons
Birthdays have always been hard for me. They make me feel uncomfortable, agitated, and full of dread. This is self-indulgent, but it is what it is, man, so get off my dick about it. And to be feeling extra dread during a time that I have coined Dreaduary (I know it sounds like a month but it’s a whole friggen year, mood, vibe) feels heavier than my usual September 15th blues.
So, this year I armored myself with low expectations and woke up on the morning of September 15th (because what the hell else was I going to do) and felt a little numb. But let me tell you, much to my surprise this was my BEST birthday in a long time.
I bet you thought this was going to be a birthday post but I have somewhat skillfully faked you out. I reeled you in, only to tell you about, what else, BRISKET! My puppy. The thing I almost only talk about now. Yes it’s weird, it's borderline obsessive. But if you spent this much time with him you’d be the same way. Trust.
This morning I asked Thomas, the legally-bound love of my life, if he was annoyed by how much I love Brisky. I know it’s a lot and it’s kiiiind of intense. He graciously said, “if you thought I didn’t know exactly how this was going to play out you’re more nuts than I thought.”
But I guess I was surprised by his answer because I didn’t know how this was going to go. I was surprised! I came into dog parenthood the way I come into most things, apprehensively. I have a lot of self-doubt despite how confidently and loudly I say everything. It’s my great deception to those who have had less than three conversations with me. I wasn’t sure I’d be up to snuff for this incoming scruff. I’ve never raised a puppy and I have a broken narrative that tells me I can’t learn new things. Thanks, mental illness, real helpful thought loop.
But I proved myself wrong and the second I saw my puppy baby my heart cracked open. I realized things weren’t all about me anymore. And that has been an incredibly freeing gift.
This pup has taught me so many things about myself, life, service, and dedication that I just couldn’t have gotten anywhere else. I think Brisket, my Beefy Boi, saved me. It’s so cliche, but it’s just abjectly true. I’m an anxious person and Covid has kind of stirred up a lot of my control issues. Boundary issues. Anxiety issues. Fear and loathing issues...you get the idea. But once Brisket bounded into my life three months ago, it gave me a whole new purpose. He took me out of myself and my cyclical thoughts and said “I need halp. I can’t pupper on my own.” It was like he looked at me with his soulful eyes and all I could hear was Kings of Leon whining “ I could use somebaaaahdeeeeeeh! Someone like youuuuu” into my ears. And so I was there. I turned my lazy, sleeping-in ass into a morning ass and I love it. My days start off with this pupper’s unbridled excitement at just seeing my face.
That’s the first lesson he taught me. I don’t have to do much more than show up and be present to be worthy. He’s teaching me that I don’t have to tie myself up in knots and bend over backward to deserve love. That’s pretty profound if you think about it.
He teaches me that I need to feed and hydrate myself because he needs to be fed and hydrated. I have to put my mask on first. Another true cliche.
He teaches me that Thomas and I are a great team. We ain’t perfect but it is a loving reminder that when he’s had too much or I have, the other is there to pick up the leash and give the other a break. It forces communication and a shared goal and that’s been nice to discover.
He teaches me that I can’t keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. The next bad thing. The next struggle. When he scratched his paw for the first time, and his paw pad was raw, I lost it. I couldn’t handle the idea that this nugget was in pain. Now, he never even blinked about it. I could poke and prod him and he would just stare at me and then lick my nose. He wasn’t in pain. I was projecting my worry onto him. I was catastrophizing. That’s no way to live. Always worrying that he’ll eat something. Get sick. Have diarrhea. Hurt himself or otherwise. He taught me to stop forecasting so much. What will be will be. I still worry like mad but I am able to appreciate our good days and good moments even more. He keeps teaching me that despite my obsessive thoughts and predictions; I’m not a fortune teller. I cannot predict the future so it’s better to appreciate what we have that's good right now.
And on my birthday he gave me something to look forward to on my day off from work. Him. As mentioned, I treat my birthday like my own personal New Year’s Eve/Rosh Hashanah. I look at the year that’s been and the one ahead and feel stuck at an existential crossroads. I feel like in order to evolve, I need to reconcile all that’s just transpired and it bums me the hell out. Not to mention not liking people accommodating me or putting themselves out in any way to please me. That causes me mad anxiety.
But not this year. I got to spend the day with the loves of my life doing simple things that 22-year-old Gab would have rolled her damn eyes at. We ate on my fave patio, Parlour. We hydrated properly. We played. We got Brisket an expensive long-ass bull dick treat and we watched him joyfully open his Pup Box. We walked through the Arboretum and we smelled the fresh air and were thankful for the beautifully bitter-sweet, almost-fall air of mid-September. We were happy and thankful and we weren’t beating up on ourselves because heads needed scratching and poop needed picking up. The monotonous routines are helping me remember I’m here. I’m needed. Even if it’s to shovel shit and that’s a really oddly satisfying feeling. I don’t need to be exceptional to have a place or be worthy of this existence.
I tend to beat up on myself for not having done enough. Been successful enough. Been beautiful enough. Kind enough. Enough. Enough. Enough. But none of that matters as much to me when I’m reminded to slow down. To take a breath. And stop being such a dick to myself. Brisket reminds me that there are other things that need tending. Other real things are happening outside my mind and thought loops. He reminds me that maybe my energy could be better spent elsewhere. This gorgeous pup that I cannot believe how lucky I am to take care of, reminds me of all this. And he doesn’t even talk!
He’s made me feel less scared about the thing I’m the most scared of, parenthood. He made me feel like I might be okay if I tried it out despite the looping thought that told me I’d be complete shit at it. Because he looks at me, and despite my constant screwing up, he seems confident I’m his That Bitch. His dog-mahm. He trusts me to feed him, water him, pet him, snug him, and love him. That much is understood. And when I had a miscarriage he reminded me I can be as sad as I want and that’s okay, but he still needed his walk. He still needed his poop picked up. He still needed water. He still needed love. And he reminded me that I still needed and deserved all those things too.