Thank Goodness for Dogs

 

I’ve been busy lately, finishing the last book in my Dragon Singer Series, getting it formatted, ordering books, moving all the furniture around in my house to accommodate new floors, cleaning everything as I moved it, cleaning it again as I put it back to remove the layer of flooring dust.

It hasn’t been exactly stressful, but it has definitely upset my usual routine. Dear Reader, if you’re familiar with the particular quirks of mental illness, you know that those of us with anxiety are at our best when we can follow a general routine that includes making calming, self-care spaces for ourselves.

For eight of the ten days my flooring guy, Jorge, was working, my routine was shot, and I was quite proud of how I managed my anxiety during those days. Until the last day. On the last day, I had simply reached my limit. I needed to have the quiet sanctuary of my home returned to me, and finally, by day’s end, it was.

Let me tell you what kept me sane in the interim: Maya. Even though Jorge was showing up at 8:30 every morning, and even though that meant having furniture (+books, knick-knacks, etc.) moved and the room ready and the pets sequestered by that time, I still walked Maya every morning. We’d head out around 5:30, 6:00a.m. and do a mile in the hushed darkness.

Sometimes, as the sun was coming up, we’d see bunnies munching on the new spring grass. Or quail, power-walking for cover in the gully. Or an awesome sunrise. Or the mated pair of Canada geese winging silently overhead. One morning, just as we strolled under a very tall pine tree, a great-horned owl called “Hey!” (which sounded like “WHO?” in his language) from the top of the tree. The hoot was so loud in the stillness, Maya and I both startled. Then I laughed. And Maya strained on the leash. (“I don’t know what that was, but we need to get to safety, Mom!”) Even on the day it was lightly sprinkling, we went out, both donning raincoats, unbothered by the damp when we knew we would be warm and dry upon our return.

On those walks, I sucked in the clean, fresh, cold air (since residual dust continued to swirl around my home for days), and I used the time to remind myself that (1) the day would be long but not unending, (2) I maintained control of the process; if my anxiety rose to a dangerous level, I could always ask Jorge to leave for the day, and (3) I am extremely fortunate to be able to afford this upgrade that I’ve been looking forward to for so long. (And “so long!” old carpeting.)

Gratitude. Gratitude in everything. The clarity of the stars in the pre-dawn sky, the sharp call of the resident Cooper’s hawk as it awakens, the ability to still do a brisk walk—look, Ma, no sciatica!, the progress of the little dog trotting dutifully alongside me (even though she’d rather be hiking or back in her nice warm bed).

Speaking of Maya’s bed: The first day Jorge worked, I kept Maya in my bedroom and stayed with her (and Jenny the Cat) most of the day. As the days progressed, I felt comfortable leaving the room to move things and clean, but checked on both of them frequently, often just lying on the floor next to Maya’s bed, stroking her head, rubbing her back, and kissing her soft puppy ears. (Okay, yeah, she’s nine, not a puppy. Her ears are still that soft, though.) This, as much as the long early walk, helped to keep me calm and “regulated,” as the current mental health jargon goes.

So thank goodness for dogs. Everyone should have one. Or two. Or three. Stay tuned….