I worked my ***** off, all without complaining nor demanding overtime nor any other compensation of any kind, because I love my job. I live and I breathe’ the job. I am the job. It makes me feel good when I’ve served and protected the community into which I was entrusted to keep watch over. I am proud for taking the scum off the streets, I am proud of being able to help others’ when they are hurting, and I am proud that there are children still that look up and see my badge and say they want to be a police officer when they grow up. You might think that all work and no play make for one boring life. But, I am really fulfilled and content.

That is except for every Sunday as we sit down for dinner. My mother insist on asking me if I have a boyfriend. When I inform her that I don’t, she than goes into the whole I need to get married and start having children, and that it isn’t like I am getting any younger nor do I have all the time in the world. I try to remain patient, but if she catches me after a long hard week of investigation and we have not cracked a case, then yes I am about ready to snap and let it come flyin’ out of my mouth that I have no intention of having a boyfriend, much less a husband, I am not interested in having children, and quite frankly I am *****. However, being brought up in a strict and fundamental Catholic Family, and hearing about all the ***** bashing, as well as, Matthew Shepard. Well, I am too scared and there has been no reason for me to leave my comfort zone. It’s not like I’ve found Ms. Right. And I am beginning to think I never will. I, seriously, doubt with the job that I ever will have the time to devote to a serious-relationship, much less to falling in-love and expecting them to be okay with being second to the job.

I barely have time to come home dish out some feed from my dog, grab me some quick left-overs, steal a quick 4 to 6 hours of sleep, to awaken to shower, and start my day doing the same ole’ same ole’. Day in and Day out, yet, I would never change it. My main man is so adorable, he’s not the most handsomest of pups and he’ll never be a show dog, and I love him more than my own life. I found him one day when I was investigating his sole owner’s murder. I was the only that could get close to him and that took an immense amount of patience, getting everyone to clear the area, and okay the last bite of my hot dog. When I finally got him to a vet, I found out that he was all of about 2-1/3 years old and apparently his previous owner had trained him, which makes my life a lot easier. I can leave him alone in my apartment and know he won’t tear it up, when I am home I can trust he’ll let me know he needs to go for a walk without making a mess on the carpet, and when I am unable to get home within a reasonable stretch of time he’ll either use the tile floor in the kitchen or the bathroom. I love to come home and crash knowing the next morning I’ll find him laying right beside me. I don’t feel so quite alone since I’ve found him and he devotes so much time and love on me, it makes me wonder who is the master and whose the trained one.