As this blog is relatively new and hasn't been very active yet, I've failed to bring up the love of my life, my beautiful Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Lucy. I've mentioned her in a few of my previous, poor, long-neglected blogs that are still hanging out there in the endless jumble that is the internet, but not here. And I need to mention her, because she's important. Not only because she will be moving in with me in 3 days time- a both exhilarating and scary experience, as I haven't been able to have her for a few years now- or because of the complicated relationship she's had with my health problems, specifically my skin.
While all those reasons are excellent ones to preface her existence now in preparation for later posts that may pop up as we adapt to one another again, Lucy is important to mention because she quite possibly saved my life.
A few years back, I was in possibly the worst mental state I'd ever been in; I was scared, sleepless and anxious and sad- but probably most of all, I felt incredibly and horribly alone. It's the type of alone it takes people with depression to understand; the type of alone that surrounds you, even when you're in a crowded room full of people talking. There was so little in my life that I found happiness in; I hated myself, and every day was a struggle because I had nothing to wake up looking forward to. I had no one to love. No one to care for.
I started musing about dogs- I took tests like 'Which dog is the best dog for you?' and looked long and hard at characteristics of different types. It was only a dream; but the more I looked, the more that dream grew.
To make a long story short, my search led me to the Cavalier, which led me to a beautiful, modest little home of a man, his sweet, quiet wife and their toddler son a few hours from where I live. And they had Cavaliers. And one of those Cavaliers, a beautiful girl named Angel, was pregnant. After meeting her, and the sire of her litter, (both of whom were exceedingly sweet, wonderful dogs) we decided to come back once the pups were born, a few weeks later, to see them ourselves.
That day, we all sat in deck chairs on their lush front lawn in the early summer afternoon, and Lewis brought out the puppies in a large basket filled with fluffy towels. I'd seen puppies and kittens before- newborns- but these puppies captivated me. One by one, they were passed to me. I held each one, their tiny little bodies cradled close to me so they could feel my heartbeat and know that they were safe (their eyes hadn't yet opened).
Some people say that at a few weeks old, it's impossible for a baby- let alone a non-human baby- to have an distinguishing personality traits. These people, to me, will always be wrong. Because I held each of those babies. Some squirmed, some were so asleep they were puddles. But then I was handed this one puppy- this little red and white girl, with freckles on her muzzle. And as I held her, she fell asleep, like most of her siblings.
But then she started to dream. I stared down at this little life, so new that she hadn't even seen the world, and she was already dreaming. It was amazing to me.
And just like that, I knew she was it. She was my puppy, and when she was ready, she was coming home with me. I also knew that her presence would change things. (To be continued)