Don’t You Leave Me!

The Hoffman Chronicles: Episode 2

Why do my humans always leave me?

I love them more than life itself. When we’re together it’s endless snuggles and cuddles and occasional table scraps. My life, nay, OUR life, is impeccable. I know we’re all one big, happy family.

Yet they constantly leave me. They always come back, but I just wish that I didn’t have to worry about them coming back in the first place. The world is such a big, scary place that’s full of big, scary noises that are inevitably going to kill us all. The noises, my god, those fucking noises.

I used to be more comfortable with them leaving, but over time I’ve realized that it isn’t safe for any of us to be separated. My humans can’t go out into the world because they could succumb to any one of the many dangers that could befall them. I mean, there’s turkeys, there’s loud noises, there’s, ya know, other stuff. There’s no telling what situations they may find themselves in.

And the situations they leave me with too, how am I supposed to deal with all these potential intruders by myself? I can’t defend the house against all of these monsters AND get 19 hours of sleep per day. I mean, there’s people walking in the street, turkeys, there’s a family of cats that lives under our deck, and, of course, there’s all those dangerous noises. Any of those things could conceivably kill us all.

But they still ignore all of that and leave me. They’d rather risk our safety than stick together and have some quality pack-time. And I have tried being vocal about my displeasures, but they only ever get mad at me.

There’s an impenetrable communication barrier because, you see, they don’t speak dog. They can’t understand my artfully crafted diction when I’m speaking, like how you can when you’re reading the words my paws have tactfully typed up. I can always write what I need to say, and I can always write what I want to say. But, I, a black Labrador, cannot say what I must say.

And this leads to an incredible feeling of isolation. This leaves me with a sense of helplessness, like there’s nothing I can do to keep this family together. I just wish they could know my pain. They can’t understand my struggles, and every time I try to communicate with them, I can’t get past that communication barrier.

Every time they try to leave, I attempt to plead with them by crying out, “Woof woof.”

My dad, in response to my pleading, will typically angrily retort, “Shut up!” And I know he just can’t understand me.

All these struggles only make me stressed and desperate. It often feels like there’s nothing I can do to make sure we’re all safe. I wish my humans could just hear me. I wish they could know what I was trying to say. And I wish they understood the hurt I lived with on a daily basis. I wish they could see the emptiness and the fear inside. I wish that they could know that they are the only thing that fills me up, and even when I’m with them I still feel alone.

Every time they leave me I’m reminded of what a cruel, unforgiving world we live in. I’m reminded that we can’t ever be assured of any happiness or security, and I become very aware that, even when everyone’s gone, I still have the same number of people to talk to.

I just wish you could see me for me. I just wish…wait. Are you fucking leaving me?! Don’t you fucking open that door! Woof woof motherfucker! Get your happy ass back here! Don’t you leave me!

Now I’m alone again. Now I really have nothing. I guess I’ll just do my sudoku until my humans return.

Holy shit you’re back! YAAAAAYYYYY!!!!! I’m happy again! I know we’re going to be together forever now.

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