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02-16-02 - 10:38 p.m. Another entry. The three of us decided to keep the puppy Bryan brought home one day a few weeks ago. The puppy doesn't officially have a name, though Bryan has been referring to him as "Logan." I think I like that name. It fits him. So that's what I'll call him, here, in my diary. Logan the tiny puppy. Logan loves to follow me around. He's really attached to me, for some reason. Not that I mind. I've always been a dog person. What's better is that my cat, Chessie, seems to really enjoy Logan's company. I've seen them playing together on many an occasion. Today as I was lying in bed, Logan hopped up the makeshift stairs I'd constructed for him so he could join me, resting comfortably (for him, at least) on my stomach, his chin on my chest, his eyes gazing at mine playfully, and his half-tail jerking left-to-right expectantly. I reached my hand up to stroke his tiny head and he licked my neck. His tongue wasn't very wet, but tickled like crazy and made me laugh. I've really come to love this puppy in the few weeks he's been here. I don't want him to ever go. This got me to thinking. I love my cat. I love my puppy. I really loved my old dog, Matilda. Why is it, I wondered, that I can so easily show love for pets, but never for people? It occurred to me that the answer is actually quite simple: Animals can't hurt me and therefore I have nothing to fear from them. On the other hand, I've been hurt so many times by men I've attempted to love that, in all honesty, I'm completely terrified to ever try again. As long as I'm being honest, I might as well admit that, yes, I am still in love with Rob. I think about him every single day. Fondly. I miss him, but I don't want him back. I mean, yes I do, but it's just too complicated and I don't know if I want to put myself through that again. I don't think I should take that kind of a risk again. We all know what happened last time, with Rob. I fucking hate men. I wish they were dogs so I could lock them outside with a choke chain. Stupid bastards.
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