I was so mean to my dog, Snooki, a moment ago that it made me cry. Before you throw paint on me in fits of protest, understand that it was not abusive in any way, shape or form. I could never do that to her, she is quite literally the love of my life. A cuddler by nature, she always has to be touching me in one way or another. She spoons me when we sleep, she lays her head on me when we watch TV, she is never more than a foot away from me at all times. Tonight, however, I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. The kind of uncomfortable that has me questioning whether I want to wake in the morning. The kind that is bothered by touch, by sight, by smell. Snooki, with her innate sense of empathy, jumps onto the bed and circles around me in her usual fashion, pushing her body against my leg and laying her head across my arm. It was harmless, loving. She was doing nothing more than offering me solace. In my growing annoyance, I snatched up my leg and barked at her to get away from me. I felt immediately horrible and wished I could’ve taken it back. She looked at me with those sad eyes and floppy ears before scurrying off the bed and into the other room. Guilt only furthered my depression and made me feel worse. But that’s another discussion altogether.
Some people think its crazy to be so attached to a pet… after all, its just an animal, right? For me, its almost like having a child. One who is always there for you in your time of need, who will protect you and who will love you loyally and without question. It’s a shame that some will go through life without having that.