The year 2021 involved a lot of loss. I lost my blissful ignorance when it came to my health, which I took for granted. I lost my connection with some “friends” who “meant well” but ultimately only kept tabs on me for their own self-serving reasons. I lost a relationship with a person who I thought I’d be with long after the health crisis. There were a lot of tears. There was a lot of grief. There were plenty of appointments with my therapist.
I thought that once I’d been technically “back to normal” (i.e. no longer needing any sort of active medical treatment), everything will fall back into place. But when the disease disturbed my routine and my life, it also disrupted my beliefs. What I prioritized, what I believed in, what I felt was more important for me. A lot of it used to be fairly superficial—money, career, financial “success”—and my attachment to intangible but important parts of my life slowly faded into the background. In my pursuit of independence, I focused on this checklist I had for myself that boiled down to two major points: move out and make more money. Anything that steered away from the two goals, I regarded as a failure on my part.
But by the end of 2021, I found myself moving back in with my parents and making significantly less money than my peers.
After my last relationship fell apart, I knew I didn’t want to go through the dating pool again, at least not anytime soon. I’ve heard stories from friends about how terrible the dating scene is, and I don’t want to subject myself—still raw and broken—to all the garbage in the ocean, in hopes of finding the right kind of fish.
I tried doing what everyone else is recommended to do to “find yourself”. But one significant moment was in a car ride with my sister, when I realized I can finally go after what I want again. Including getting any type of pet, whether it’s a certain breed or a rescue—two things I couldn’t really go after because of my former partner’s reservations about “small dogs” or rescue dogs. I’m still convinced he just didn’t want the extra baggage of having a dog with me, but that doesn’t matter anymore.
Initially, I started reaching out to some breeders of Pembroke Welsh Corgis that I found on a quick Google search. A decent amount of them said no, with reasons ranging from having no planned litters for the foreseeable future to saying I may not be the right fit for a corgi as a first-time dog owner. All fair points.
There was another (very likely) backyard breeder who was charging $3000 for a corgi puppy, who was super eager but refused to give me information about the puppy’s parents that set off some alarm bells. As much as I wanted to have one, it wasn’t worth it.
So instead of Tinder, I found myself on Petfinder.
Continue reading “who rescued who?”