LeeLoo, the family dog, is missing. Well actually, she’s not the family’s dog. She’s your brother’s dog, but she’s been your brother’s dog for about 11 years now. So really, if we’re all being honest, your weird, furry sister is missing for three days now.
You feel the familiar feelings of dead and unretreivable pets. You feel the familiar feelings of being so very far away and unable to contribute anything meaningful besides a few encouraging texts and lies of “I’m sure she’s fine, having the time of her life!” You feel the familiar feelings of God telling you that you are so not in control. Of anything.
But ultimately, this isn’t really about you. It’s about you’re brother. And his dog. And the way the world feels like an upturned snow globe today.
Tranlsation: Twenty-five is briefly living upside down with fake snow pouring down and then back up around you before you can ever get your footing. (Oh, it’s also living in a hard plastic dome that you don’t see until you bang your head into it. So, you know, be careful.)
That damn dog was found living the good life at someone’s multimillion dollar home. It was reported that she just loved the pool! And the tennis courts! To be clear, the dog had to jump in the Vermillion river, filled with alligators that think dogs taste like chicken, to swim to this home.
Translation: Twenty-five is realizing the family dog is living better than you are.
Here’s the thing: you posted about your lost dog on several “find my pets” sites a few days ago. The outpouring of support and love was amazing. Stranger after stranger after good-loving-Lafayette-stranger shared her photo and info.
Then you found her.
You went to all the places you posted and said, oh hey! We found her! Thank you! But here’s the other thing: the Internet is out of control.
You keep getting notifications that people—strangers—are sharing your photo asking for help and prayers for the dog that is now back in your brother’s custody (and pretty depressed because your brother doesn’t have a pool). So you spend a few hours trying to track each of these posts down saying, oh thank you! But we found her! Stop sharing. But they’ve already shared with all their friends. And their friends have shared with their friends. And people have a lot more cyber friends than they do real friends.
In a word: the Internet.
You do what you can, but you also realize that in about six months, LeeLoo’s face will pop up on your feed via a semi-stranger or the Huffington Post, asking people to please help bring her safely home.
Translation: Twenty-five is wondering how to use that same out-of-control sharing to plug your book (that’s on sale in paperback and ebook formats).
Writer’s Note: This post is part of a larger series called “Learning Twenty-Five.”