McKensie Elizabeth

Mmm, mmm good.

Yep, she's my dog. At least she was my dog, until she became my parents' dog. I dream about a reunion every day.

Our love story began when I was 21, an immature, out-of-college (by choice, not by graduation) bartender living alone in Charlotte, North Carolina. I also had a highly inconvenient soft spot for fur-babies and no idea how much actual care they require.

So one day some friends of mine showed up at the patio bar with a tiny little black lab mix named Karma. I was smitten. Really, it was all over from there. I asked where they'd adopted her, recruited a couple fellow food- and drink-slingers to come along, and headed down to the South Carolina pet rescue center to get one for myself. A day later, we were all proud pet owners. I named my little lady McKensie.

Adoption day! That's me and Kensie, second from the left, in our very first photo together.

First of all, I lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. Second of all, I worked weird hours as a bartender, and wasn't home as much as I should have been to raise a puppy. I was also used to being free to do as I pleased, stay out as late as I wanted, and party 'till the wee hours. Suddenly, I had this tiny creature to take care of. She needed me. Mostly, to clean up her poop. But also to slop wet kisses all over, first thing in the morning. And of course, for access to an entire shoe collection to mercilessly chew through. There were many, many casualties in my closet. Including the closet itself. She also happened to have a taste for woodwork and door frames.

Things got easier when we moved back in with my parents a couple months later. After that, we kind of moved around a lot, but the circumstances remained fairly conducive to having a dog. I'll admit, though, there were days when I was just overcome with guilt walking out the door, knowing she'd be home alone for many more hours than I'd like. I'd re-enrolled in college by then, and with my classes and my nearly full-time waitressing job, it was tricky to make enough time for my little angel.

Things changed quickly when I settled on spending a semester abroad. My parents agreed to take McKensie, knowing she'd be good company for this guy:

My little brother Seamus. He is a cute little bugger, no?

Inevitably, Kensie and my dad fell madly in love while I was away. She really is just this high-energy, affectionate little princess. Plus, she's totally boy crazy and takes a shine to any male that crosses her path. Every morning, she'd help my sleeping dad greet the day by climbing up on top of him and licking his face until he finally crawled out of bed to take her for a walk. He played annoyed, but she got her way every time. She totally won him over. And when I returned home from South America and moved back in with my parents, my reunion with my little girl couldn't have been sweeter.

Fast forward a bunch of months. I was offered an internship on Martha's Vineyard, an Island with a prohibitively high cost of living. I was thrilled that my aunt and uncle, who live on the Island, invited me to stay with them during the internship. Of course, they had three dogs of their own and there really wasn't room for a fourth, so I had to leave McKensie with my parents once again. When I did move out into my own place the following fall, it was tricky enough to find a place with reasonable rent, let alone one that allowed a dog. McKensie and I seemed destined to be apart. I hated it, but there wasn't much I could do.

My little lady, all growed up.

So my baby girl has been living with my parents ever since. I dreamed about bringing her with me to Chicago, but with my work hours, she would have been largely neglected. And how would I take her home for holidays? I couldn't imagine crating her for a plane ride (she has never been crated. I was not a disciplinarian dog mama). And there's no way I was making the 11-hour trip in a car every time.

So sleepy.

Fireside.

So for now, we cannot be together. I know now that it was impulsive and probably very irresponsible to adopt a dog when I was barely mature enough to take care of myself, but I can't bring myself to regret it. I'm lucky enough to have parents who adore her just as much as I do, and were willing to take her into their home so that she wouldn't have to pay for my poor judgment. It's now been six years since I adopted her, and though I don't get to see her every day, I still think about her all the time. When we do get back together, on holidays and the occasional random home-visit, there are many, many face kisses and fetch sessions. I can only hope that one day my circumstances will be such that she can come back to live with me.

Postscript: I have a tendency to call everyone by their first and middle names when speaking to them. However, in my opinion, everyone's middle name is Elizabeth. You are not Sarah, you are Sarah Elizabeth. You are not Annie, you are Annie Elizabeth. McKensie, naturally, became McKensie Elizabeth. It really stuck. You have no idea how hilarious it is to hear my dad bellow "McKensie Elizabeth" loud enough to echo throughout the neighborhood whenever she's misbehaving. Which is often. Oh the simple joys she brings!