Chapter 76
Chapter Seventy-Six
DeadStrings: Excuse me?
DeadStrings: My soulmate?
DeadStrings: I’m not ready.
StringTheory27: Who decides when you’re ready for love? You do. That pup doesn’t need perfection. He needs consistency. Someone to walk him, sit beside him on slow mornings, toss a tennis ball when the world feels too quiet. You’re already halfway there.
DeadStrings: What if I mess it up?
StringTheory27: You’re not adopting a philosophical concept—you’re adopting a dog. He’s not asking for all your answers, just your time. Your presence. Maybe a treat or two.
DeadStrings: What if I can’t give enough?
StringTheory27: Then you’ll learn as you go. That’s what love is. Messy, unrehearsed, often full of drool. But sometimes you need someone who sees you at your worst and still nudges your hand with their nose like, “Hey, we’re doing this day together.”
DeadStrings: You’re about a sentence away from starting a motivational calendar.
StringTheory27: And you’re close to letting a good dog slip through your fingers because you’re scared of starting again.
DeadStrings: . . . what would I even name him?
StringTheory27: Oh, no. I’m naming him. You lost naming privileges when you tried to walk away.
DeadStrings: He’s my dog. You don’t get to name him.
StringTheory27: Too late. I’ve already decided. His name is Otis.
DeadStrings: Otis?? What, like the elevator?
StringTheory27: No. Like Otis Redding, you uncultured insomniac.
DeadStrings: Still sounds like a janitor with bad taste in music.
StringTheory27: Wow. So rude to a soul legend and a hypothetical Great Dane.
DeadStrings: He’s not even in the house yet, and you’ve already decided he listens to vinyl and wears corduroy.
StringTheory27: Don’t act like you wouldn’t give him a flannel and teach him to mope to Elliott Smith.
DeadStrings: Touché. But I was thinking something cooler. Maybe Zeppelin.
StringTheory27: You want to name your dog after a flaming airship disaster?
DeadStrings: I want to name him after a band that made me feel things at 14, but okay, fine—what are the Otis house rules?
StringTheory27:
Otis gets the left side of the couch.
No yelling unless it’s for joy.
Daily walks—yes, even if it rains. Especially if it rains.
You talk to him. Don’t pretend dogs don’t understand.
When things feel too quiet, you don’t disappear—you take him to the park. He’ll know.
DeadStrings: That sounds more like therapy than dog ownership.
StringTheory27: Maybe it’s both.
DeadStrings: So what—you want me to journal with him too?
StringTheory27: You joke, but Otis will probably know your secrets before your therapist does.
DeadStrings: What do I do if he hates me?
StringTheory27: He followed you once. Dogs don’t do that unless they know something. He’s not looking for perfect. He’s just looking for you to show up.
DeadStrings: Should I get a book or something?
StringTheory27: Only if it makes you feel less panicked. But here’s what matters: food, walks, patience, and maybe play him a little Otis Redding. Trust builds slowly, but once it’s there, it doesn’t break easily.
DeadStrings: Fine. But if he pees on my boots, I’m calling him Zeppelin out of spite.
StringTheory27: You name him Zeppelin, and I’m sending you a mixtape of nothing but Celine Dion ballads.
DeadStrings: I feel threatened.
StringTheory27: You are. Now go and get Otis.
DeadStrings: It’s too late. I’ll go tomorrow. If he’s still there, maybe it’s meant to be.
StringTheory27: And if he’s not? You should choose another dog. Someone to help you fill that little hole in your heart that needs love.
DeadStrings: Then maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
StringTheory27: That’s a cop-out.
DeadStrings: Or maybe it’s acceptance.
StringTheory27: No. It’s fear.
DeadStrings: What do you want me to say? That I’m terrified of bringing something home that needs me and failing again?
StringTheory27: Yes. Say that. Say it out loud. Because pretending you’re okay with him being gone doesn’t make it hurt less.
DeadStrings: It’s easier to think some things aren’t meant to stay.
StringTheory27: But not everything that disappears was supposed to. Sometimes you have to fight for what stays. Even if it’s just a dog with crooked ears and sad eyes.
DeadStrings: And what if I can’t do it right?
StringTheory27: Then you try. Then you mess up and learn and try again. That’s love. That’s all any of us are doing.
DeadStrings: It’s not about the dog, is it?
StringTheory27: Of course it is. And of course it isn’t.
DeadStrings: I don’t want to want something this much.
StringTheory27: But you do. That’s the thing. You do. So go get him. Or don’t. But don’t tell yourself it wasn’t meant to be just to avoid getting hurt again.
DeadStrings: You’re relentless.
StringTheory27: No. I just recognize the look of someone who lost something once and doesn’t think they’re allowed to want it back.
DeadStrings: Fine. I’ll go tomorrow.
StringTheory27: Good. And bring a name tag. One that says Otis.
DeadStrings: We’re still fighting about that.
StringTheory27: We always fight. It’s what we do.
But you’re still showing up. And that counts for something.
See, we fight, disagree, and sometimes .
. . no matter what, we come back to each other.
We have a very committed online relationship.
You just are afraid to realize that you made a friend because then there’s the fear of losing her.
DeadStrings: You’re not wrong. Again. Which is annoying.
StringTheory27: You’ll get used to it. The whole “me being right” thing comes standard with the package.
DeadStrings: You’re not subtle, you know that? Calling me out for having feelings.
StringTheory27: Better I say it than you have to journal it. Don’t worry—I won’t make us friendship bracelets. Yet.
DeadStrings: God forbid. You’d pick glitter.
StringTheory27: Obviously. With matching beads. But back to the important stuff—when you go tomorrow, and you see Otis . . .
DeadStrings: If I see him.
StringTheory27: When. You don’t get to weasel out with your fate-and-timing philosophies. If he’s there, you take him home. If he’s not, you ask about him.
DeadStrings: And if someone else already got him?
StringTheory27: Then you curse the universe, buy a bag of chips, and take it personally. Then you try again. Because healing means trying again. Not just once. Not just for love. For everything.
DeadStrings: You’d make a great motivational speaker—or cult leader.
StringTheory27: Thank you. It’s all the books I keep buying. Plus, I practice in the mirror. But seriously—you can do this. Even if you’ve never done anything like this before. Even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you. Do it.
DeadStrings: I didn’t mean to care this much. About a dog. About this weird digital thread. About anything.
StringTheory27: But you do. That’s the most human thing you’ve ever said. And that’s exactly why Otis needs you. He already chose you—you’re just slow.
DeadStrings: I’ll go. Tomorrow. And if he’s still there . . . I’ll try. I won’t just show up. I’ll commit. To a leash. To walks. To feeding schedules. To peeing in the right places.
StringTheory27: You or the dog?
DeadStrings: Both. One of us is still working on the house training.
StringTheory27: I’ll make him a welcome-to-the-life mixtape. And you get to send the update after. You owe me that much.