My life as an addict's dog

Not now, Luna. Daddy's busy.

I’ve been struggling with this ‘confession’ for a while. Mostly, because these words weigh a lot more than most. And also, because I’m not sure it will reach its intended ears — specifically the floppy satin ears of a dog named Luna.

How do you make amends to a dog, anyway?

Like every living thing that comes into this world, Luna’s arrival was heralded by hope — and tears. She cried the whole way home. Only eight weeks old, she missed the family we had torn her away from. I wrapped her up in my arms and kissed her tiny head and promised I’d take care of her forever.

But an addict’s clock doesn’t recognize forever — only the moment. And, as my addiction deepened, so did my vow weaken.

I began to let her down.

Sure, there was still so much love. She had this habit of placing her paw on my lap, exactly at the moment I was bringing a pipe to my mouth.

Not now, Lulu. Daddy’s busy.

Then, she’d follow up with her bright, beautiful head, peering up with the most sorrowful eyes.

Not now…

Certainly, I took her for walks. But they were often cut short by the need to meet a dealer. I was hurried, reckless. Or daddy was tired, lazy.

Luna was also terrified of thunder. Yet I dragged her into the heart of a storm to stand on street corners in the pouring rain.

“You said you’d be 20 minutes, man. It’s been like an hour,” I’d complain bitterly to my late-night pharmacist.

Luna would look up at me with velvet eyes, her body soaked, still trembling from the thunder.

Not now, Luna. We’ll go home soon.

Dogs don’t weep. Luna scarcely made a peep. But boy, could she ever make her feelings known. On occasion, when someone came back to the house with me, this dog — who was the gentlest creature you could ever know — growled and nipped at my visitor’s heels. She knew a bad influence when she saw one.

Hey! Luna! No!

Sometimes, I’d have to block Luna from entering the room. My guest was so terrified. That’s when Luna cried a lot.

Not now…

But she was endlessly forgiving. She smiled when I walked through the door. Seriously. The goofiest, weirdest smile you’d ever see.

Dogs are living reminders that we can be loved — no matter our condition.

I can't make amends to Luna. She lives with a family that loves her to the moon. She never goes without. She may never see me again.

I understand that. Life has consequences. She's brightening other doorways.

Luna has no need for my apologies anyway. She bears light, not grudges. All I can do is learn the lessons so effortlessly given — and try to love myself.

Because if she could do it, anyone can.

The other day, I was talking to my mom about all the unconditional love Luna brings into the world.

“That's the kind of love we should give each other,” she said. “That's god’s love.”

Truth. Only she got it a little backwards.

That's dog’s love.