To whom it may concern:
You don’t know me, but when you moved in the winter of 2013, you abandoned my dog. She was your family dog, and after you had packed everything away, you left her alone in your empty apartment. Your old landlord found her, alone and confused. He tried to contact you, but by that time, you were long gone.
Right now, your little red dog lies curled up beside me. She makes noises in her sleep. Her name is Brenda, and she is the best dog in the whole world.
She got that name at the animal shelter where she lived for almost a year in a kennel. She was passed over so many times she was named a member of the “Lonely Hearts Club.”
Years later, Brenda is still afraid of being left behind.
She is obsessed with making sure nobody is deserted like she was. When we walk up the four flights of stairs leading to our apartment, she stops at every single landing to make sure I’m following.
My husband Tim and I can no longer walk Brenda together because if one of us leaves, goes home, or pops into a store, she panics. She has dragged me an entire half mile down the street to find Tim. In her mind, we are a pack, and we have to be together, all three of us.