Man And Dog

 

Man and Dog

Of course, I feel guilty about giving up my dog to a pet rescue home.

I tell myself I had no choice, to make it easier to live with myself. But that’s not entirely true. I did have a choice—just not a good one.

Option One: Private Housing Agencies

“Most landlords don’t allow pets. You might get lucky, but generally, they won’t accept tenants with animals.”

I wasn’t lucky. Almost every place I asked to view rejected me outright because of their no-pets policy.

Option Two: Council Housing

“You didn’t submit the required form.”

“Here’s a screenshot from my account on your website, showing that I did—date and time included.”

“You didn’t submit the required form.”

“Here’s the same form again. Here’s proof that I’ve sent it again. Also, why has your website been changed so that it no longer shows the evidence that I sent it the first time?”

“You didn’t submit the required form.”

This went on for two months.

Then:

“We’ve received your form. Since you’re facing imminent homelessness, we’ll place you in emergency temporary accommodation. You’ll need to find somewhere to store your belongings.”

“I’ve spoken to others in emergency accommodation. They’ve been given bedsits in the town’s most crime-ridden area, and some have been waiting two years for permanent housing.”

“Yes, that’s where our temporary accommodation is. And yes, it can take that long. Also, no pets are allowed.”

I have a fourteen-year-old son. His needs come first. He matters more than the bureaucrats who see people as forms and statistics.

I chose to have a house without a dog instead of a dog without a house. Those were my options.

I could have waited another month, hoping a landlord who allows pets would appear—only to find myself in the same situation, with even less time before eviction.

So when the opportunity came to accept a relatively decent home, even though it meant giving up my dog, I took it. I needed to put a roof over my son’s head.

I am crying as I write this. I love my dog. I don’t want to part with him. I worry about how he’ll feel—confused, abandoned. Dogs have huge hearts; I know he will forgive me. But that doesn’t make it easier to live with myself.

I didn’t have real choices. I was forced into this. And while I know I made the right decision, it says a lot about the society we live in.