Monica, Chris, and Dojo went on vacation in 2021. Photo courtesy of Monica Cardenas.
Until my mid-30s, I shared a common perspective with many women I knew. I found nice guys to be dull, while those who were commitment-phobic seemed more appealing, simply because their potential to slip away added an element of thrill. However, about a year before I met Chris, I enrolled in a course titled “How to Find Love.”
This class shed light on the concept that the love we experienced from our parents during childhood, no matter how dysfunctional, feels familiar and thus comforting. This realization brought my life into focus. Throughout my childhood, I lived in fear of making mistakes and constantly sought approval to stay in my mother’s good graces. For two decades, I did everything in my power to keep her happy. Even though my mother ended our relationship in my 20s, I discovered in that class that her influence was still affecting my romantic relationships. This explained why I gravitated towards men who made me work for their affection, men who were unreliable. At the age of 6, I painstakingly transcribed the lyrics to “Straight Up” by Paula Abdul to give to my “boyfriend” because I sensed he was on the verge of leaving. In college, I dated a kind young man who informed me early on that we would have to part ways after graduation to avoid hindering his career. And so, we did.
The majority of my 20s were spent with Drew. In all fairness, he never slipped away because he was never truly mine. We led essentially independent lives, and I convinced myself that I preferred it that way. It took me nearly seven years to realize that he had no genuine interest in me.
Chris possesses many admirable qualities, primarily his stability and reliability. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I accepted his proposal because I had finally broken the cycle of toxic relationships.
Yet, this victory was somewhat short-lived, as when Chris proposed, our dog Dojo was by my side. Not out of loyalty. Dojo consistently stood with his back to me, aloofly gazing in any direction but mine. His demeanor and behavior mirrored all my past failed relationships, and upon introducing him into our lives, I regressed into my old patterns.
Chris and I were in search of a dog to adopt when a friend informed us of an adorable pup she had discovered in her backyard. She had already taken him to the vet for a check-up. With no microchip and approximately 4 years old, we agreed only to meet him, but I ended up purchasing a crate and leash. Dojo was undernourished and incredibly timid but displayed a resilient spirit. We brought him home, where he cautiously roamed our apartment but kept his distance. Due to his unknown history of food deprivation, we fed him small meals frequently. He ate eagerly and settled into the bed we provided. On our initial
During the ongoing pandemic, we conducted dog training sessions over Zoom. Our trainer, who was both delightful and knowledgeable, remarked that Dojo was the most challenging case he had ever encountered. Our focus was on boosting Dojo’s confidence and creating a sense of security with us. Dojo was fearful of the clicker, so instead of using it, we made a soft “cluck” sound with our tongues. Progress with Dojo was slow as he would shy away whenever we attempted to touch his head, despite our gentle approach with his favorite treats. Despite eventually gaining weight, Dojo remained anxious and uncooperative. Our relationship was similar to the one I had with Drew: we shared a space, and he relied on me for food. I forgave Dojo for his behavior, understanding that he was just a dog. I often found myself fantasizing about confronting those responsible for his past trauma in vivid detail. However, my focus shifted to caring for Dojo as he faced health issues, such as geriatric vestibular syndrome. During this difficult time, I reassured him that we would always take care of him. After a visit to the vet and the struggle to get him to take his medication, I resorted to making bone broth for Dojo, despite my ethical reservations about handling meat. The broth became his only source of nourishment during his illness. Dojo’s recovery did not alter his behavior towards me.
In a separate part of my life, Drew2, different from another Drew, took three years to confess his love for me. Despite his sporadic attempts to end our relationship, they never lasted. To keep him comfortable, I gave him space and did not pressure him to attend events with me. Following a breakup with Drew2, where he claimed that people cannot belong to each other, I vowed not to chase after someone again. However, Dojo was the exception to this promise. Despite his skittish behavior outdoors, one day, while out for a walk, Dojo’s collar snapped open, leading to a comical chase as I tried to put it back on him.
During a period of a few months, Dojo enjoyed good health overall, but he remained elusive, always slipping away and then bouncing back. His health issues led to the decision to have him neutered, causing much worry for his caregiver until receiving the reassuring call from the vet. Dojo was diagnosed with kidney disease and struggled to eat his prescribed diet for weeks. Further complications arose, including recurring UTIs linked to a mysterious bladder mass, weakening back legs, eye infections, worsening cataracts, chronic diarrhea, and sleepless nights for all involved.
After Drew2, Liam entered the picture, offering a whirlwind romance that ultimately revealed his abusive and narcissistic behavior. Despite early gestures such as surprising visits and thoughtful trips, Liam’s true nature emerged when he resorted to name-calling and emotional manipulation. The relationship took a toll, marked by late-night calls and volatile outbursts, culminating in his sudden departure without clear explanation.
Dojo’s health further deteriorated, marked by troubling symptoms such as leaking, mobility issues, and unsettling noises. Despite efforts to administer medication, Dojo resisted treatment, leading to frustrating and emotional moments for his caregiver. Amidst the challenges, the bond between Dojo and his caregiver remained strong, driven by a commitment to providing love and care, even in the face of adversity.
Transitioning to a new home with a private backyard offered a tranquil setting tailored to Dojo’s needs, emphasizing a renewed focus on his well-being and comfort.
We strolled down our peaceful street as Dojo leisurely sniffed around, savoring each scent he encountered. Then, one day, he stirred from a nap and regurgitated. The vet attributed it to a “physiological event,” a term I couldn’t fully grasp, yet I sensed it was serious. On Dojo’s final evening, he allowed me to gently place him on the couch, with Chris and me on either side, creating an intimate moment I wished we could have experienced every night. Chris fed him bits of roasted chicken by hand as Dojo gazed at me, holding my gaze unwaveringly — a rare occurrence. I understood its significance. He had heard all my assurances during our too-short time together, promising to always care for him, no matter what. After his passing, I was deeply moved when I received a letter containing a lock of Dojo’s fur and paw prints from the vet, leaving me overwhelmed with sorrow. Chris discreetly stored the memento somewhere, a location I’m still unaware of. Initially, I feared that chasing Dojo’s affection positioned me as a pitiful partner. It wasn’t until months later, following his departure, that I realized Dojo had embarked on a parallel journey to mine towards Chris. We shared a history of disappointments and mistreatment, making his trust in me understandably fragile. I sometimes gaze at Chris and contemplate how this bond came to be.
Dojo detested the rain. If caught in a downpour, I would attempt to towel him dry upon returning home. I experimented with different drying methods, from towels of various hues to shower mitts and paper towels. Despite my efforts, he would snarl and scurry away every time. Yet, he always returned. Standing just out of reach, he would allow me to scratch behind his ears, leaning into my touch. We maintained a delicate balance, neither of us moving closer as we stood six feet apart. It wasn’t quite trust, but a silent agreement that permitted him to test me repeatedly. I didn’t need to capture Dojo; I only needed to show him that he already held me firmly in his grasp. Through our interactions, Dojo mirrored aspects of myself, teaching me that unlearning familiar patterns can be challenging, but change can lead to positive outcomes. Monica Cardenas, who holds an MA and PhD in English from Royal Holloway, University of London, writes the Bad Mothers newsletter and hosts the Bad Mothers podcast on maternal estrangement. Her work has appeared in publications like The Audacity, Literary Hub, and Litro. For more from Monica, follow her on Instagram or explore Bad Mothers at https://monicacardenas.substack.com/. If you have a compelling personal story you’d like to share on HuffPost, learn what we’re seeking and pitch us at pitch@huffpost.com.
