In Her Own Time.

So you know how the other day I said, perhaps in fewer words, that I would undoubtedly plunge into a vast, downwards spiraling black hole of depression if Callie didn't remember me? ABOUT THAT.

On Tuesday, Preston and I were supposed to meet his Mom on the beltway, about halfway between Bryn Mawr and Richmond. On the way down, Preston and I got into a mini fight, and didn't talk for half an hour (this is completely tangential and non Callie-related, btw). However, I will say that in this fight, I was the victor, and both of us knew that I was right. This wasn't just me having to win ALL THE TIME EVERY TIME. I am the first to apologize when I know I'm wrong, but this time, I knew I wasn't wrong, and damn it, I was NOT going to give in and apologize for something that wasn't my fault. Normally, when Preston and I disagree/have mini fights, within five minutes, my stomach is tied up into about 67,000 knots, tears are streaming down my face, and I either apologize or immediately launch into a weighty discussion that probably could have waited until there wasn't snot dribbling down my face and tears spilling onto the table.

So this whole not talking thing, and waiting for Preston to think it through, was a BIG deal. I'll admit, there were times I wanted to blurt out why I KNEW KNEW KNEW I was right, cry, tell Preston to STOP THINKING and JUST TALK TO ME ALREADY, but I kept my tears and emotions and snot inside (yay!). It also helped that the playlist we were listening to had a steady stream of I AM ANGRY music. Eventually, though, as I knew he would, Preston spoke up, beginning with "So I've been thinking about this a lot..." And we continued on to have a reasonably calm, rational discussion. Nevertheless, though, I (of course) still cried, felt like I had swallowed a boulder, and really just wanted to curl up in bed. This set the stage for the rest of the afternoon.

A couple hours later, we finally spotted my mother in law's car, and saw her waiting with Callie beside it. Preston and I were practically jumping out of our seats we were so excited. You might as well have told us that life would, from now on, be an endless summer, that our apartment would magically become A/C'd, that Latin teaching was now THE job to have, and that we wouldn't ever have to pay the massive car insurance bill festering on our coffee table because the FAIRIES had come and whisked it away. We were that excited.

So I got out of the car, ran up to Callie, and she was only sort of excited to see me. That's when my heart started coming out of my chest. AND THEN my mother in law (whom I adore--we just have very different styles in every possible way in the world) actually laughed and said, "Oh! She doesn't remember you!" And then my heart just climbed its way out of my ribcage, through my mouth, and plopped itself onto the ground. I knew I was about to cry; my face got hot, my chin started to tremble slightly, and I could feel my eyes swell with tears. Immediately pulling down my sunglasses, I took the leash from her, sat down on the grass, and pulled Callie close to me, where I rubbed her coat and kissed her in the soft nook behind her ears, as if willing her to remember me. After quickly switching Callie's gear into our car, we hugged, kissed, and said good-bye.

For the rest of the ride home, Callie seemed detached. Sweet and loving, but not our Callie. Not the dog we had rescued and walked and fed and spoiled and ADORED. For the next half of the trip, I sat in the backseat, desperately trying to get a glimpse of that dog. Eventually, I gave up and let her sleep alone in the back, while I, defeated and depressed, climbed back into the passenger's seat.

As we pulled onto our road in Bryn Mawr and the car slowed down, Callie sat up in the backseat and stuck her nose out the window we'd rolled down for her. Her ears started to perk up as we parked the car and got out her leash, and the moment she stepped out of the car at the Residence, it was as if she knew that she was home. She smiled, enthusiastically wagged her tail in circles, and ran up to both of us as if she finally recognized who we were. That we were those people who lived in that place where she got walks and ham and pepperoni and belly rubs and Greenies.

And every day since then, it's just gotten better. She follows me into every room I go, runs to the door when we come back from doing errands, attacks her Greenies, jumps up when we say W-A-L-K, sniffs the ham container whenEVER we go to get something from the fridge, and sticks her paw up when we're not giving her enough love as if to say, "HELLLLOOOO I know you have nothing better to do than rub my belly."

So the Shnuffler (we call her that because whenever she sneezes, instead of Bless You, or something civilized/normal, Preston and I always exclaim SHNUFFLE!) is back. She just needed some time. But as she lies here next to me, resting her paw on my leg, watching my every move, and breathing deeply, I have to believe that she knows she is home.