Juliet. That is her name. She was my pittbull rescue. She had lived in the shelter for over 18 months after being dropped off in the middle of the night. Abandoned. We took her out to play, a meet & greet if you will…she was cute, friendly, aloof. I asked questions about her, why has she been here for over 18 months? what was she like with other dogs? kids? cats? They were unsure, kinda gave her a bad rap at first, one of the volunteers told us she did not do well with children or dogs, so we left disappointed. Later that day I had several messages and an email about Juliet from the humane society asking us to give her a chance. They asked us to foster her for 1 week and see how she did. They sent a video of her interacting with other dogs, she seemed okay, so I agreed and off we went to pick her up. I knew the minute she got in the car, she was mine. I read everything I could about rescues and pitbulls and rescue pitbulls…I watched every video I could about dog training. I took owning her very seriously.I asked friends with big rescue dogs about socializing her. I exercised her religiously. I walked her. I ran her. I would take her to the park and run up and down the slides, like an obstacle course. I watched as people crossed the street to avoid her. They were afraid to get too close, she was more afraid of letting them get too close to her. She was the most gentle, loving, sweet dog in my house. She even learned to interact with my cats, without trying to eat them. I was so proud of her accomplishments. She never let me down, never disappointed me. She never chewed up anything she wasn’t suppose to. She was perfection. I loved her wholeheartedly. All she ever needed was for someone to have faith in her, to give her a chance to prove herself, to be loved. And I did. It occurred to me this past week that Juliet was the perfect metaphor of my life. I had spent many years feeling abandoned by my father, my husband, at times my family and all I ever wanted was a chance to be loved, always afraid to let someone get too close, always proving myself to others only to be let down and left again. So when she was taken from me by someone who did not invest the time that I had with her, or exercise the patience that I had for her, by someone who didn’t understand her I was devastated. I was heartbroken. Not only did I financially take care of her but I truly cared about her progress from rescue shelter dog to family. I have tried to adopt another dog, I thought I was ready, but I just can’t. I feel like adopting another is a betrayal on my part, an admission that I will never get to have her again and it’s just too hard. I don’t want her to think I gave up on her, or that I didn’t love her with my whole heart. I imagine the day that I can see her again and how sweet the reunion would be for both of us and I know it will never happen. I am just not ready to admit that she is gone and not from old age but because of circumstances. He took her because he knew she meant everything to me. He took her to hurt me. And it does hurt, I miss her everyday. She was my Juliet, a tragic love story. I just want to see her again.