It's been a long night.

I'm exhausted.

Tonight I called my mom, crying, while Bennet ran around in the street, and told her that I was thinking about taking my little dog to the pound.

I had just watched her nearly collide with a moving car, and I couldn't bear the thought of watching my dog die. Taking her to find a new family seemed a far better option.

I've been thinking about it for a while, wondering if I'm really the best family she could have. Wondering if I made a mistake back in October, when I impetuously hopped in my car and drove to Cypress to pick up the little white furball who'd stolen my heart with just a photograph.

And tonight when she wouldn't come, when she ran further and further from me, I lost it.

Less than a year ago, my Shacky was hit by a car and died. She was like Bennet; she hated being caged. In so many respects she was the best dog you could have asked for, but no modification to the fence around her yard could contain her.

My parents called me to tell me the bad news, and I cried for hours that night.

Tonight, watching my less-than-a-year-old puppy stand in the street with cars approaching at various speeds, my heart shattered. For the little black lab that my dad put into my arms when she was just a tiny puppy. And for the white terrier-schnauzer-God-only-knows-what mix that I brought home of my own accord.

The thing is, I don't know what I'd do without her. In five months I've adjusted my entire life to being a puppy mom. She pounces on me in the morning to wake me up, and snuggles beside me when we fall asleep at night.

So instead of dropping her off at the Humane Society, I bought a long chain, one that reaches all the way to the door, so that there's no excuse for not hooking it to her collar.

I hate putting a dog on a chain. I hate that she can't roam freely in the yard.

But it's the only way to keep her from roaming freely outside the yard.

We're still figuring this thing out, Miss Bennet and I. We're still figuring out how to live together, how to be the best duo we can be. More often than not, I feel inadequate to properly care for her. And more often than not, she responds to my concerns by climbing in my lap and licking my nose.

I guess we'll be okay.

But thank God for dog chains.

And for my mom.