Sunday, I found out my Lulu ran away.
Not from Daddie.
Not from Sissy.
Not from The Bubs.
Not from their mom.
I found out from a lady at church that I don’t know very well.
I found out that she ran away THREE WEEKS AGO.
Nobody cared to tell me because they were hoping she’d come home and they would never have to tell me anything about it.
I was told to “cut her (their mom) some slack”, “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by not telling me” and “she was really upset about it”. Not anything about the fact that my dog ran away or that they didn’t tell me. Just to cut her some slack because she knew it would upset me. Awesome, right?
I don’t care that I’ll be 23 in a couple of weeks. WHO DOESN’T TELL THEIR KID THAT THEIR DOG RAN AWAY? Seriously. I’ve had her for five and a half years. Did they think I wouldn’t notice she wasn’t there next time I went over.
I’m hurt, heart broken, pissed and disappointed in the fact that my own family can’t respect me enough to tell me my dog ran away.
I hope you have a nice big bed to sleep in and can be happy being an inside dog again. Nobody can love you as much as I did, but I hope they can come close.
I love you, Fattie.