My Dog Knows My Depression
Potter came into my life 7 years ago. I actually picked him out from the breeder when he was a puppy. I chose him because he was the sad, fat puppy in the corner. I knew he would be a wonderful dog for my sister.
My sister is not the most responsible person. She has Bipolar II and is also an alcoholic, so most of the time she is leading a complicated life. She fights a lot of demons and is often out on the town so she doesn’t have to be at home by herself. Her social life did not agree with the responsibility of taking care of a dog, so he was often pawned off on my mom or myself and since he was carted around all over the place, he developed a bad case of separation anxiety. My mom has two other big dogs and adding a large black lab to the mix was overwhelming for her.
My fiance and I wanted to alleviate some stress for my mom so we decided that we would take Potter for a couple of weeks. The first day that he was in our home, it was like he was a different dog. He didn’t pace around, he didn’t lick his legs, he didn’t bark at me for treats, he didn’t whine. He sat, curled up next to me on our couch and breathed a sigh of relief and relaxation. Potter was home.
A Better Life
To say that I love Potter would be a huge understatement. What I feel for him is a fierce kind of love, one that forces my heart strings out of my body and connects with his. Of course I loved him before he was mine, but this love has grown, it’s deep, unconditional, strong. He understands me, needs me, loves me, protects me. He gives me things I never knew that I needed.
He’s seven years old, and his chin is gray, mostly because he has been so stressed throughout his life that he grew the gray hair but also because he’s getting old. He’s playful and loyal, always looking up at me with that goofy “I’m a good dog” look. He’s my protector, always listening for sounds that aren’t quite right, always barking when the doorbell rings, letting whoever is on the other side know that no harm will come to his humans.
He hasn’t known a stable home for seven years, yet it was as if he knew he walked into one the minute he came here. A couple of weeks became a permanent stay for this big guy.
He Knows My Depression
Potter gets me up every morning at 7 AM. He guides me to the back door so he can use the bathroom, smell the smells in the backyard, and let the neighbor dogs know that his yard is his territory. He then leads me to his food bowl, asking me with kind eyes to fill it with his food. He gets me up in the morning to start my day and he encourages me to stick to my routine because he knows that my depression tells me to sleep in, to be unproductive, to ruin my day before it begins.
Potter sits and stares at me a lot. Then the guessing game begins, do you want to go outside? Nothing. Do you want some food? Nothing. Do you want a treat? (Usually this is a yes regardless, but sometimes he does nothing). As I narrow down the list of what he wants or needs, I can usually get a YES! out of “do you want to go for a walk or go bye bye?” This isn’t just a YES! This is usually a “HELL YES LETS GO RIGHT NOW, I LOVE WALKS AND BYE BYE.” Potter walks me through my neighborhood, smelling the smells and peeing on every corner to let the neighborhood know that he owns it. Potter walks me because he knows that exercise is good for my depression. Potter knows that walks are good for his anxiety too.
Potter snuggles next to me, or on me, pretty much whenever we are on the couch. When I’m lucky, he lays his head near me and nudges me a few times to let me know that he needs loves. He guides my hands to his belly to get the good rubs and licks my face to say thank you. Potter follows me wherever I go and cuddles with me because he knows that on my down days, support is what I need. He’s always reminding me that he’s just an arms reach away if I need his loves. He knows that his love is a wonderful distraction from my depression.
Potter smiles, literally, when I come home after being away for a few hours. He bares his teeth, not in a menacing or angry way, but in a “OH MY GOSH YOU’RE HOME AND I’M SO HAPPY!!!!” way. He wiggles his entire body and his long tail knocks stuff over, but whatever because he’s just so happy to see his human. Potter greets me this way because he knows that no matter what kind of day I am having, his excitement can calm me and make me feel loved.
Potter sleeps in our bed every single night. He’s a big boy, but his spot in the middle of us is where he belongs. When it’s time to go up, Potter waits patiently to see if we are really going upstairs for the night. He guides me upstairs and jumps up to his spot, dropping down with a sigh waiting for his loves. I hold his face in both of my hands, rubbing my thumbs gently over his eyes. I kiss him on the bridge of his nose and I tell him that he is a good dog. I tell him that I love him and that I’m so thankful for his kind soul. He closes his eyes, showing me that he has put full trust in me, acknowledging that he is indeed a good dog, and telling me that he is thankful for me too.
Potter sleeps on his back, with his feet in the air. He snores like an 80 year old man with a deviated septum. He usually gravitates toward my side of the bed, leaving me hardly any room to stretch my legs. I don’t mind though because when I look at him, I see happiness. I see love and kindness. I see loyalty and protection. I see sweetness and laughter. He makes me think of this because he knows that my depression and anxiety keep me from falling asleep at night and he knows that if I think about him, it helps me drift away peacefully.
My dog knows my depression. I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t shame me or blame me or judge me or hate me. He doesn’t tell me to get over it. He doesn’t tell me that I’m weak. He just loves me and I will always make sure he knows how thankful I am for that.
