I sobbed fat, salty tears today. The kind that well up on the surface of your eyes first before they form giant drops that fall heavily down your face.

I got a puppy, his name is Tako. He's 9 weeks old. Dealing with his puppy terrorism takes every ounce of my patience. I don’t blame him, he’s a baby. He acts brand new—because he is. I’ve only had him for 2 weeks, but he fucking tests me. He knows that his shrill cries are my weakness. I internally break down in seconds due to the sheer volume of his whining. I’m probably much more fearful of noise complaints than I should be, but I would hate to live in any apartment neighboring me right now.

I don’t want to talk about how Tako is cute as fuck.
I won’t agree with you about how he’s so chill when you meet him.
I can't admit to you that I am any happier than before I got him. I can't, at least right now.

You’re just under his spell, his immediate charming little spell.

I want to cry and complain and vent that I am doing my fucking best all by myself. He’s expensive, he’s time consuming and when he’s not a good boy he bites me and snaps in my face.

I feel dumb for even typing this. It’s trivial. It’s expected.

I KNOW. I guess I just wanted to erase that facade of a cute face because he’s hard work. I want to say what I really fucking feel. I wanted to keep it a buck (100).

For the record, I’ll never regret getting his ass. I caught feelings for the fucker as soon as I held him. I have dreamt about a shiba for as long as I can remember. However I want to cry, a hug, or some simple reassurance that it’ll get better (I know it will).

He’s my dog and I can cry if I want to.