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!
Happy Bailey Day! from me and Denyse, my rescue kitty. BTW, love the new background. Where is this beach??
Thanks from both of us! And the beach is at Bamburgh, right below the castle, in North England, just near the Scottish border, very near Lindisfarne. My idea of heaven.
I remember how hesitant Ron was when you brought Bailey into your lives. Now he’s such a proud and loving dog dad. You’ve reminded me it’s our anniversary for Mickey, too. Happy Anniversary, Bailey!
Happy anniversary, Mickey!! (Same day? Really?)
Happy Bailey Day, so nice to see how he changed both your lives. Who wouldn’t love that cute little face? Happy Anniversary and many more to Bailey.
you rescued Bailey – he rescued you
That’s exactly what I’m saying, Tatiana! 🙂