One day, the usual rhythm of our tranquil life was disrupted. Zoe started limping; not too severe, but enough to raise concern. Ignoring it was beyond me. I rushed her to the vet, where after examination, they diagnosed a minor sprain caused by excessive running. Naturally, I paid the bill, procured the necessary medications and nursed her back to health and vigour. This period established just how integral Zoe had become to my daily life – I’d been there for her in her time of need, and I couldn’t envision a future without her.
A year into this blissful existence, an unexpected jolt – an unfathomable message from my ex. She wanted Zoe back. Just like that. No pleasantries or inquiries into our welfare, just a stark demand: “I want my dog back, I need her.”
The audacity of it shocked me to the core. For a year, it was I who had been Zoe’s principal care giver. She was tethered to my routine. I’d been her rock when she needed one, and mine was the wallet that paid for all her medical bills. I ensured she received the best possible care. To me, Zoe was no longer just a dog; she was family. My ex’s unexpected demand blindsided me completely. I was at a loss for response.
