Today is the one-year anniversary of the day Bailey-the-Rescuepoo came to live with My Best Beloved and me.

The Best Beloved is in Europe just now, but he sent an email requesting I give Bailey a few extra treats for him on what he calls “Bailey Day.”  He said he can’t believe how his heart has opened up in a whole new way.

Dogs are like that — they’re kind of magic.

I just got back from a book tour, and I missed the little fur-ball so much I kept going to my computer to see pictures of him.  When I was nervous, or feeling insecure, I pictured him curled up on my lap and felt all the tension and insecurity give way to contentment.

As a writer I spend a great deal of time alone. I like this. It’s not that I actively dislike people (well, not all people), but like most writers, my temperament leans toward the solitary. My writing sometimes takes me to rather dark and, dare I say, emotionally perilous places. (I’d stop if I could, but I’m actually saner when I’m writing than when I’m not, so it’s best for all concerned that I continue.) Also, as a recovered alcoholic, I have a ‘natural’ tendency to isolate, preferring to simmer in my own emotional stews. Then, too, like most of my family members, I have a history of depression, for which in the past I’ve been medicated. Whereas my husband is a glass-frothing-over-in-effervescent-excess-of-good-stuff kind of guy, I’m definitely an oh-look-I-think-that’s-a-dreg-at-the-bottom-of-the-glass type of gal.

In short, I’ve always thought of myself as moody, with a tendency to droop.

However, over the past year I’ve found it pretty hard to maintain moody droopiness when faced with a little pup who believes my coming back into the room after a five minute absence warrants a celebration worthy of visiting royalty. He’s my wee shadow. Sitting in a chair by the window, squirrel-spotting, as I write. Trotting after me from room to room. Lying on his blanket in the kitchen as I cook. Sitting on my lap like a little fur-covered hot water bottle as I read. If I get caught up too long in dark thoughts I am interrupted (as though he knows I’ve taken a wrong turn) by the sound of a squeaky toy and the thump of his paw on my leg. Time for a walk. Time for play. Before Bailey, I feel like I’d forgotten about play.

Even my husband remarks on how much happier I’ve been.  He’s surprised, and so am I, frankly. I didn’t realize how gray the world had felt.  So, here’s to you, Rescue-poo!  Thanks for finding us!