Here we are sitting on the porch. It's hotter than hell tonight but I'm better off than Charlie, poor guy. Dressed in full Havanese coat, he lay on the concrete, legs spread wide apart to catch a cool breeze. Normally, I would say that he was undignified but today he is pressed onto the concrete to feel and to forget. Charlie, poor guy, recently in the hands of the rubber glove gang. Neutered but not forgotten, he is checkin' out the chicks, chirping, chasing and nipping at my ankles more.
It is true that we are given the responsibility to care for God's animals in so many ways they cannot. Recently my psychiatrist shared with me the reason that I have Charlie and before she spoke, I flashed her that smirk. "Cindy" she begins "he is your rejection of suicide", now I'm thinking ... what crap ... I wait for her lecture to begin and hope it is short. But once I came to my senses, I could only acquiesce. My doctor is very in tune to my physical and mental conditions. Struggling for the past year, she hits the nail on the head.
Trial and error medications have not worked alone. My little dog brought to me a sense of fulfillment where appreciation comes from the smallest of acts. Strongly rejected by a parent for my lifetime, the companionship of my little dog is ... significant.
Finally, I have learned that without medications, I would not exist. For me, medications are strong and deliberate. Chemically, they hit the target when I allow them and even though they are potentially self-stigmatizing, I recommit. My doctor adds another to the mix and slowly it gives and it takes perfectly.
As for Charlie and me, well we're housebroken. He is the strong and non-silent type. On most days we go for walks and it feels good not to live the old solitary life. We flunked our first obedience class because it moved too fast for my Bipolar mind but we're at it once again. He wants to be a therapy dog. We both do.
Art Quote And Painting Of The Day
