Every
relationship has issues that pop up way too soon. Alas, as two people
navigate the early stages of getting to know one another, life goes
on. Politics, work changes, family stresses, friends in need. Things
happen and then
premature
discussions become urgent conversations.
For
Daniel and me, one
such
moment
arose
about
a month ago. Daniel’s
condo finally sold after a full year on the market. He was ecstatic.
This was a place he’d bought in 2005 with his partner. With their
twenty-five-year relationship having imploded, they can finally divvy
up the paintings and the sofas and literally move on with their
lives. I showed up at Daniel’s with a bottle of champagne to
congratulate him on the big moment.
We
hadn’t even finished a first glass when Daniel pulled out his phone
and started showing me photos of a new place he’s had his eye on.
It
ticked off all the boxes on his
wish list—ample storage, an enticing reduced price, space for his
baby Grand piano and green views from both balconies. I politely
looked and listened. I’d seen it all several times already. Daniel
was so taken with the place, he’d put in a prior offer in
April.
(The sellers rejected it since they were eager for a quick sale and
didn’t want to wait around for Daniel’s place to sell.)
Back
then, I quietly pointed out that the building didn’t allow pets.
“It
doesn’t say that, does it?” Daniel asked as we drove to pick up
our umpteenth COVID-19 takeout dinner.
“It
was right there in the property description,” I said. “‘Sorry,
no pets.’”
When
we got back to his place, Daniel immediately looked at the listing
again. His butter chicken could get cold; this was important. “Well,
darn,” he said. “I missed that.”
I
ate my aloo gobi, pleased with myself for helping Daniel narrow down
his endless search. Scratch that one off the list.
But
then Daniel got his real estate agent to arrange for a showing the
next day. I didn’t get it. Was Daniel just doing his due diligence,
getting a better sense of the market?
We
are both dog people, even
if we’re
both going through a prolonged in-between stage. No dogs now, fine.
No dogs for the foreseeable future? As in fifteen years from now when
Daniel finally stops working and opts for a quieter life in one of
those retirement communities where pickle ball and Canasta are all
the rage?
Too
long.
And
too much of a flash-forward perhaps.
Still,
I couldn’t understand why Daniel kept going back to—obsessing
about—a no-pets property. For me, it would have been an easy pass.
No dogs, no deal. But then, I get my back up over other people
telling me how I can and cannot live. Why would I spend a million
dollars on a property and let a bunch of bylaws tell me I can’t
have another miniature schnauzer? Sic
’em, Wilson!
Okay,
I don’t have a million bucks to buy a place but Daniel does.
Whatever a person shells out for a place to live, it’s most likely
his biggest purchase. I may never be able to get a place with a lap
pool and a tennis court, but I don’t want to be denied the chance
to bring home a pooch from the SPCA.
Yes,
yes, I know. This is supposed to be about Daniel’s place, not mine.
That’s why this is one of those premature conversations that popped
up. I’m decidedly in the Must Love Dogs corner. I liken it to the
question many couples face about wanting (or not wanting) kids. For
some, the answer, infertility issues aside, can be a deal breaker.
I’ve
never said it out loud in front of parents, because I know it
won’t go well, but my dogs were my kids. Having a Rottweiler or a
shih-tzu—who am I kidding, it’s gotta be a schnauzer—is not
some nifty addition to the household. A
pet
is
an
essential
part of what makes living a rich experience.
Somewhere
down the line, in a year, maybe two, if Daniel and I stay together,
there is going to be talk of us living together. And I am certain
that it will be about me moving into his spacious place, instead of
him squeezing into my 550-square-foot “cozy” home.
After
I first pointed out the no pets policy, I kept my mouth shut.
Secretly, I hoped the timing wouldn’t be right. Someone else would
buy the place and Daniel would have to accept that the fact that the
timing wasn’t right. But the FOR SALE sign stayed up. I know
because Daniel made detours to drive by it every time we were in his
car. Like
I
said, obsessed.
When
he asked me to join him as
he
looked
at
the property yet
again,
I declined. “This is your future home. It needs to be your
decision.” I knew he was set on living there. Somehow I hoped he’d
notice some
other
non-negotiable flaw during
the
visit—a
smoker who hangs out on the balcony above, a strong
moldy odor,
a loud motorcycle that constantly idled in the back alley. He’d
dismissed other properties for much
less.
The
day before, when he came over for dinner, he asked, “If I buy the
place, is the
fact it doesn’t allow pets going to affect us?”
I
didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want anything I said to be the
reason he’d pass on the property. What if we broke up next week,
next month, next year? If he settled for something else he deemed
inferior or pricier, I’d be that
damn fling he never should have listened to. Hell, even if we stayed
together, I’d be the source of resentment when some
other
place he settled for turned out
to have termites...or mold...or a chain-smoking, motorcycle-revving
neighbor. Still, he asked and he was staring at me, waiting for some
sort of reply. “I don’t know,...it might.” I knew I didn’t
want to be dog-less for the rest of my life, at least not because of
a building bylaw. Was it better to walk away now before anything
deeper developed between us?
Daniel
teared up. He reiterated things he’d said many times already. How
he’d been looking for a year. How concrete buildings are rare in
the neighborhood where he wanted to live. How it was the closest
thing to what he was living in now. He even said that maybe the one
dog he’d had with his ex might be it for him. At this point, he
couldn’t take care of a dog on his own.
In
the end, Daniel proposed that if, down the line, I moved in with him
and we decided at some point to get a dog, we’d use my mental
health diagnoses as a means for getting a therapy dog. I said I
didn’t want to use my mental health status or to have it known to
nosy building residents, but Daniel had resolved the issue in his own
mind.
We
spent much of that
weekend together, walking on quieter trails in local parks. Every
single time, we came upon someone with a dog, Daniel did what he
always does. He crouched down and greeted the dog, ruffling its
fur, scratching behind its ears. I used to do that but I’ve
stopped. It’s too hard on me. It only stirs up a yearning to get
another dog. Daniel though just can’t help himself.
That
Sunday night, he put in an offer and it was accepted.
I’m
truly happy for him. I just
don’t know what it means for us.
