Peace

I named her peace... because that is what I was searching for when I wrote him that letter. The subject line of an email never returned.

I wanted to travel. I had a plane ticket. To France, of all places. March 23, 2020. I thought getting away would give me the peace I needed.

I had just left an emotionally abusive relationship and I was picking up the pieces left of myself. I had lost my voice for over a year, and in 2020, I healed it just as fast and just as mysteriously. I felt like a newborn learning to walk again. I was confused, and more than that, I was overwhelmed.

The pandemic started, my birthday came and passed, and my aunt called. Her dog had given birth to a litter. I could have first pick.

I had been thinking about getting a dog for a long time but I always hesitated because of my schedule and rental's dog policy.

I found myself locked inside the home full of the past I was trying to leave behind. I decided to move to a dog friendly apartment. I did not get to see the place before I sent over the security deposit. I did not even meet the housemates. I only had one video chat with the person who would be handing me the keys.

Paix. That would be her name. The last letter silent.

People would ask her name and I'd say "Paix, like 'Pay', you 'pay' something."

It is ironic.

She was chaos wrapped in a small package. I had never felt less at peace than during her puppyhood. We were deep into a pandemic and rarely left the house. This was yet another adjustment. I never knew unvaccinated dogs were at such high risk.

She became my routine. She'd get me outside, at least 4 times a day. A little walk in-between meetings while I worked from home. I always knew what time it was, no blending. Everyone loved her on video meetings.

She made it easy to meet people at a time when everyone was keeping to themselves. People would stop and want to pet her. "Can I? My hands are clean."

When I decided to move to my own apartment, she became the one I'd hug when tears were streaming down my face. She never judged, she never asked.

She taught me to play again, to enjoy hide and seek. She'd bring me her toys and we'd play wrestle. Her bite slowly getting less painful.

She helped me find my 'head voice', a challenge for singers.

She made me softer around the corners, more patient than I thought was possible.

She taught me what unconditional meant, when she'd destroy the carpet or leave a scar on my arm.

She was difficult. She had issues with possession and she would guard things.

I would cry of frustration sometimes, when the training was not progressing. I had to go to the hospital to get a tetanus shot after one of her bites was too deep.

But in the end, she did live up to her name.

Not because of who she was, as I thought would be the case, but because of who she helped me become.

The pay was worth it.