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National Rescue Dog Day brings to mind one of the best pieces of advice my former therapist suggested to help with my depression: get a dog.
When she suggested the idea, I wasn’t ready.
It had only been two years since I lost both of my senior fur-babies. I still felt heartbroken over losing the best dog I ever had and my 21-year-old soul kitty on the same day. At times, I could still hear my sweet old doggy panting at the back door. I would still see my old kitty girl walking into my bedroom. I still felt them, as if they weren’t really gone.
I was devastated by their loss and afraid of opening my heart again to another animal.
Several months after my therapist’s initial suggestion, I began to open my mind to adopting a new furry friend. My depression was still going strong, having survived the past year through both high times of amazing travels abroad, and low ones like dealing with a flooded home and my husband’s rapidly declining health.
I’d come to terms with the knowledge that my depression would likely never go away and that I’d always have to work to keep it from taking over my life. I simply had to live with it and not hold myself back from things I desired out of fear of failure.
The idea of taking care of a dog again sparked that fear of failure in a big way.
I was afraid that I would be a bad dog-mom, that I couldn’t possibly take care of another living thing without damaging it in some way. My old familiar mean-girl voice was telling me I wasn’t good enough to have a pet. But I was beginning to tune her out.
Then, my social media algorithms started showing me videos about shelter dogs.
I watched several from an influencer known for helping scared and shut down dogs—those who would cower in the corners of their kennels, trying to hide themselves, always getting passed up by potential adopters. He’d help these depressed dogs come out of their protective shells to have a better chance at finding their forever homes, and it warmed my cold, scared heart.
I thought I might finally be ready to rescue a dog.
I began looking online at dogs ready for adoption in local shelters but was still hesitant to act on any of them. Adopting a dog is a huge decision, and I didn’t want to make it lightly.
I had somewhat specific criteria—no puppies or bully breeds, medium sized, short haired, potty-trained, and good with dogs, cats, and kids.
I needed to be sure any dog we adopted would do well in our home with the rapidly changing lifestyle my chronically ill husband and I now found ourselves living. I didn’t have the mental capacity to train a puppy or work with a troubled or reactive dog no matter how much I wish I could.
I told myself that I would know the right dog for us when I saw it. I believed that somehow, I would just feel it in my gut.
There are so many animals in need that I quickly became sad and overwhelmed with my search. I had to stop looking for a time because the knowledge of so much suffering was killing me.
But then, a video popped up in my Facebook feed. It was a segment called Forgotten Dogs from a local news station, spotlighting a one-and-a-half-year-old pup named Pilot.
They said Pilot had been in the shelter for a year, one of the longest to live there, and no one could understand why he kept getting passed up for adoption. They said he was normally a happy guy but was becoming depressed.
My gut started rumbling. Pilot was depressed, like me! Could he be the one? Did he check all the boxes?
Puppy? Nope. Check.
Bully breed? Nope. Check.
Medium-sized? 30 pounds. Check.
Short haired, potty-trained, good with dogs, cats, and kids? Check, check, check!
Pilot was also black which was a bonus. Black dogs are often overlooked in shelters, so they always hold a soft spot in my heart. Double dog check.
I called to see if Pilot was still available. He was, and thanks to the social media post, I wasn’t the only one interested in adopting him.
The next day, I went to the shelter to meet him.
Immediately, I understood why he may have been passed up by potential adopters. When I walked in front of his 7-foot-tall kennel, he was so excited by the energy of all the other dogs in the big room that he was barking his head off, jumping and leaping almost to the top of the kennel.
I thought oh, this boy has a lot of energy, and I started doubting myself. I was already feeling a little uncomfortable with his relatively young age after having a senior dog that always laid around and never barked.
I wasn’t sure if I was up to the challenge considering my depression, but I still needed to meet him.
Once we got outside, Pilot calmed down immediately. The shelter worker told me he would likely stay calm once he got out of the shelter environment. She’d seen it happen with many other dogs countless times. I decided to trust her advice.
Pilot was distracted and didn’t give me a lot of attention that day, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew that I’d imagined this (unrealistic) story in my mind that the right animal would show me definitively that he wanted me as his mom.
He didn’t, but I could see that he loved all his caregivers. Everyone who came by that day stopped to pet him and told me that he was such a good boy, and my doubts began to fade.
I decided to take a chance and filled out the paperwork, went home, then anxiously waited to find out if my application for adoption was accepted.
A day later, I got the call. I was approved; Pilot was mine!
For the next couple months, I felt wonderful. It seemed my therapist was right. But as anyone with chronic depression can tell you, it waxes and wanes—ebbs and flows.
While my depression initially seemed to go away, it came back. But now it feels different.
Just like my therapist said happened for her, I now have at least one responsibility that I can’t shirk no matter how I feel any given day.
Pilot is the one constant I’m incapable of ignoring, even though I struggle in other ways to manage my mental health.
Here are four reasons why I think rescuing a shelter dog has helped with my depression:
1. I have to get out of bed every day.
Pilot must eat food and drink fresh water every day or he will die. Simple as that. I can’t lay in bed for too long after he wakes up or worse, stay there all day when I’m feeling down. He lets me know when it’s time to get up, and I don’t dread starting my day near as much as I did before adopting him.
2. I spend more time outside and move my body even when I don’t want to.
Pilot is a young border collie/dachshund mix which means he has a lot of energy to burn. We go for walks daily so he can expend some of that energy and it’s good for both of us. Spending time in nature and getting a little exercise, does wonders for my mental health.
3. I isolate myself less and foster connection with a friend.
A lot of our dog walks are with my neighbor and her sweet old pup, Lady—both of whom Pilot loves tremendously, so I do my best to make sure they happen almost every day. This keeps me from completely isolating as is my usual habit when my depression is at its worst. Over the last year, I’ve learned that my neighbor and I have a lot in common. At a time when I’ve felt lonelier than ever, these walking visits have become a lifeline, and I’m grateful to have found connection not only with my furry friend, but with a human one too.
4. My unhealthy distractions now have time limits.
Being a mix of several working and hunting breeds, Pilot needs daily mental stimulation or he may become bored which can easily turn into behavior issues. Because of this, we play often. If I’m on my phone too long, he lets me know by bringing me a toy, touching me with his paw, or humming to let me know it’s time to take a break and give him some attention.
Despite this last year being one of the most difficult I’ve ever endured; my rescue dog has become my greatest source of joy—a beacon of light when life frequently feels bleak and out of control. I still have depression and will always need to manage it, but Pilot makes it better.
I can’t imagine life without him.
~
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