Julia Szabo, The Post’s pets columnist, divorced her husband, John, in 2001, but they continued to live together for years for the sake of their six dogs. Finally, last month, John moved out, but not until they fought a heartbreaking custody battle over their beloved pit bull Angus. For the first time, Julia reveals her story of love, loss and moving on.
By JULIA SZABO
FOR years I have lived with a man in a partnership that was joyless as well as sexless. Why did we stay together? Because of our dogs.
We had raised our own six-pack of rescue dogs — four pit bulls and two mixed breeds — over the last 15 years and we couldn’t bear to split them up. More to the point, neither of us wanted to part with any of them.
Ever since we met in 1992, my husband and I have had a rocky relationship. Initially we were passionate, but when reality set in, things deteriorated and we finally agreed to a divorce in 2001. But we couldn’t agree on who would get custody of the dogs.
Our reasons were partly practical. Once you’ve shared the co-parenting duties of a dog, it’s tough for one person to manage it alone. Sure, you can hire a dog walker or pet sitter, but you can never be sure that paid pet support will give your four-footed family members the same level of TLC.
But our main reason was emotional: Dogs fill the overwhelming void of loneliness that results when you make the mistake of living with a human you can’t stand the sight or sound of.
So John and I continued to live in our two-bedroom railroad flat on the Upper East Side. All eight of us.
For the first few years after the divorce, John and I slept together in the same bed. Shocked? Don’t be: Our dogs are very good in bed, and there were so many of them curled up between us, around our heads and feet (and sometimes on top of one or both of us), that neither he nor I noticed the other’s existence.
But sleeping with a snoring, blanket-thieving, pillow-hogging creature can eventually drive one homicidal — if that creature happens to be human. So finally I decamped to the opposite end of the apartment, separated by two doors.
Even so, John and I fought all the time. I told him one of us had to move out — and it had to be him.
John agreed under one condition. He would take three dogs, including Angus, our winsome, white pit bull.
I was devastated. Even though I don’t like to play favorites, Angus was my baby, ever since I adopted him from the New York City Animal Care and Control shelter in 2005. He was the one who appeared next to me in my Post column photo. He was my dashing, dependable date at red-carpet events, including the “Marley & Me” premiere in December.
When I told John I couldn’t let go of Angus, he wouldn’t listen. I was tormented for weeks, looking for a solution, until I realized what I should do: Seek the advice of an animal psychic.
I have known animal psychic Amelia Kinkade, author of “Straight from the Horse’s Mouth” and “The Language of Miracles,” for years. Kinkade teaches owners to listen and really hear what animals are trying to say. Anyone can do this, and it’s a practice that could help many a human relationship, too.
So I decided to ask Angus what he wanted to do — not what I needed or my ex wanted.
Two months ago, I sat down on my kitchen floor while Angus settled into my lap. As I stroked his fur, I cleared my mind and put myself into a meditative state, to be receptive to his feelings. Suddenly he looked up at me and stared into my eyes. I felt a profound connection.
Angus told me, wordlessly but loud and clear, that although he loves my ex and me equally, protecting John is his duty.
And then I knew. I would have to let Angus go.
Since then, I’ve tried to be upbeat. Every day I send Angus positive thoughts, telling him I didn’t abandon him and I will always love him. But in my heart, I realize I don’t need to. Angus already knows.
js@pet-reporter.com