Some trauma is easier to get over and move on from. I still miss that pooch Keria of mine, she was vital to my recovery. She was an answered prayer, from the gods, for sure, for me. Yet, my mother, and several associates, I do not miss or yearn for them as I do her. Even with Keria’s elderly successor moving in with Rylee, Boba, and myself, I still smell, feel, hear that pooch. Every pitbull I encounter, brings me back to her, immediately. It wasn’t so much her breed as her personality and soul…

I process we always get what we need, and rarely what we want. I was lonely and desperate living with one lone pack survivor, Boba. Things changed and became rearranged, I choose to move from a city environment from half a duplex into a mobile home in a mobile home court. It was thru that duplex Keria came into my life and over the course of a month, changed me into a better, loving person. At first: I did not want her or any dog unless it was a pure bred boston terrier or boxer; she changed that. She was pathetic! And I could tell in short time, she had been physically and mentally abused and neglected. She became my hot mess over a two month time period.

I brought her home to meet Boba, having her on a leash and me being parnaiod she would attempt to hurt/eat/kill him. She was the opposite; she submitted to him by laying down on her stomach and letting out a sigh. Her sniffed her then kissed her nose. Brave from a maincoon, for sure. I later learned, she yielded alpha state to him, they got along very well. She wanted what I wanted, attention, love, food, snuggles, farts, dumps, and kisses.