text: My girlfriend stole my dog “Follow that car,” I yelled in the taxi driver’s window, pointing to the maroon mustang driven by my now ex-girlfriend. I jumped in the back and explained to the driver as we pursued. “That’s my ex-girlfriend, she came to the house to collect some of her things, but she left with my dog.” I pointed to the back window of her car and said to the driver, “See the dog in the back seat? He’s mine.” Nodding, the driver said, “Do you want me to try and cut her off?” The driver was probably hoping for a bigger tip, but anticipating some accident, I said, “No, we’ll just keep her in sight, and when she stops, I’ll grab my dog.” Leaning back into the seat, I pictured myself riding in that yellow Prius as a noble chariot driven by a courageous savior out to rescue my dog. Looking back, though, I see the taxi driver may have simply may have pulled over thinking my arm was on fire because I was waving it so intensely, and I’m sure he didn’t leave the house, thinking, ‘I’m seeking adventure in the form of rescuing some random dog today.’ It was so long ago now; I don’t even remember what that argument was about. It was some minor detail that turned into an immovable mountain that led to her moving out of our home a few days later. Eighteen years ago may not seem very relevant, but so much of my life is a duplicate of that event that going over an event from yesterday or re-living an event from eighteen years ago is the same to me. I remember it was a beautiful sunny day in May, probably around 80 degrees. Every tree was showing lots of green. Green was perhaps the scent in the air because everything was alive in the neighborhood, so all was probably perfect for me too. Looking back, I seemed so happy, but maybe I was just naïve not to expect the natural learning cycle that was to come. I remember getting ready on that day to go to the beach. I can see my pretty girlfriend putting a few towels in my beautiful antique Volkswagen next to my friendly Labrador. Everything pretty or beautiful; I called mine for some reason. I don’t remember doing it consciously. I don’t think anybody would. I loved that antique VW because it proved to the world that I was a magnificent mechanic, and I loved the girl probably because she was pretty, and that proved to the world that I was, in turn, attractive and loveable. My dog was beautiful, soaking up the sun in the back of my VW on that day. I loved that dog, I think, mostly because I thought the dog felt the same way. Now, I’m not saying I can’t LOVE, or my LOVE is insincere; I’m just saying that the most significant part of my loving things in those days was self-absorbed. As we pursued the mustang, I’m sure I was thinking about what I’d lose if my dog weren’t recovered. The lesson of fighting for ownership of that dog may have been discovering the importance of genuinely loving something. The most significant loss would have been the unconditional love that I couldn’t do for myself. If I’d had any wisdom on that day, I would have seen that I was pursuing unconditional love in the form of the dog. “She’s slowing down; I think she’s getting ready to pull over.” “Just pull up behind, and I’ll step out to retrieve my dog,” I said because I’m sure the driver was anxious for this little adventure to be over. The mustang stopped in an apartment complex I hadn’t seen before, and I stepped out of my chariot to the back door of the mustang. Opening the door revealed two things: a surprised dog in the back seat that looked like mine but wasn’t, and a surprised driver that was not my ex-girlfriend. I directed a hurried, “Sorry, thought I knew this dog” over the front seat and shut the door. I’m sure she thought I hired a taxi to stalk her and her dog. Gloomily returning to the Prius, I said, “It wasn’t them. You can take me back.” The notion that, years ago, I was pursuing something that displayed true love but wasn’t true love has always haunted my aspirations of love. When reflecting on a lack of love, I immediately go back to that moment chasing my dog. I’ve contemplated some unconscious piece of me that may be monitoring my best possible potential, telling me that I don’t love enough. Somehow, I mistakenly interpreted that message as if I should fight for ownership of my things. Ownership of love is impossible, so I did the only thing I could comprehend, which was to fight for something that most closely resembles love. The yellow chariot stopped in front of my house, and I got out to walk up the steps. I glanced in the window next to the door as I opened it and noticed what I thought was my dog coming to greet me. I quickly opened the door and dropped to my knees to hug him. Petting him softly, I said, “Hey you! I thought I lost you.” Just then, my ex-girlfriend’s voice came from the nearest room and said, “I just came by to grab some of my stuff.” Maybe not wanting to reveal the weakness I now see as loving her, I told her something casual and utterly obvious, like, “I see. Do you need any help?” “No, I have friends coming over tomorrow to help me move the big stuff.” I know I wanted her to stay, but somehow couldn’t muster the courage to tell her, so I said , “I can lend a hand with the big stuff.” I can see that chasing after my dog was simply pursuing some model of love right in front of me.