7 Dear Obi-Wan,

You’re not as patient as you used to be.

One of the things I really worried about when you were quite young, almost a newborn really, was that you would be crazy loud. I’d always hated surprising loud noises, and I worried that you would bark all the time. Bark, when someone came to the door, bark when the mail delivery people would come by, bark when the neighbor dogs were out, bark all the time. Turns out you were a pretty quiet puppy. I was quite paranoid about you continually making messes on the carpet so I would take you out to the backyard all the time. Sometimes spending forty minutes or more in our fenced yard, on my phone or reading a book while you explored, and hopefully took care of business. There was a time when we would pick up your poo almost as quickly as you would make it, but then I think we, as a family, reached an exhaustion point — plus the guys who came to mow the lawn told us they didn’t care if there was a mess on the lawn — they said they were used to it and dressed accordingly.

I’d wake up panicked in the middle of the night, or crushingly early in the morning so that you wouldn’t have to soil your crate or hold it in uncomfortably. You may not know this, but you were my first puppy. Perhaps it was obvious. There was a six-month period where I would sleep on the couch next to your crate so, theoretically, I could hear you whine or whimper and could then get you outside before accidents occurred. Because you came to us during the pandemic you and I spent the first year and a half never more than 40 or 50 feet from one another. We didn’t travel much during that time, but when we did, I tried to make you as comfortable as I could, lugging around your crate and your bed to Airbnbs throughout Michigan.

When we moved to the new house, things changed of course, but I like to think they got better. You had a bigger yard, and a more space to spread out inside too. At this point your mom and I were back to work regularly, but I would still come home during lunch as often as I could. To let you out, and also because I missed you buddy. It didn’t matter that the drive was 20 minutes each way, I just needed to feel like I was taking care of you.

Things are pretty different now. You bark a lot more than you used to. I’m not in the house at all, and we only see each other two or three times a week. It’s nice when I can bring you back to my place, but I always get the feeling that you don’t really like how small my apartment is. There’s also no yard for you to relax in, no way for me to just let you and let you run free or explore. Now I’ve got to take you on walks three or four times a day. It’s all ok, but it’s not as good as it could be.

I think you’re doing ok at the house, but since I’m not there I don’t really know. The kids take you for walks almost every day, but I miss it, and you, so much. You’re better off there during the weekdays when I need to be at work, but I can’t help but to feel some guilt about it all.

You never used to bark at me. Now it’s a common occurrence. Like you’re telling me that I fucked up. Which, of course I did, but I wasn’t sure you would know that. And maybe you don’t. Maybe all you know is that I’m not around as much, you don’t get out as much and we don’t sit on the couch together as much. I miss you buddy. I hope you know that.

Have a good day. I hope you get a decent walk.

Yours truly,

Dad.