My triumphant return to writing this blog actually began two years ago. Stay with me. Two years ago, Boone was born. He wasn’t Boone yet and he wasn’t mine. But once we met I never wanted to be parted with him. That’s a lie – I thought about leaving him when he chewed three pairs of Tory Burch sandals. And again, when he chewed the straps of a Louis Vuitton Neverfull. Oh, and every time he poops on the carpet because the grass is wet. The chewing has abated … the pooping is still touch and go.

Let me take you back to where I was two years ago. Let’s call it- high functioning depressive – a full on Monet, from far away it looks great but get up close and its a mess. What that means is, unless you were very, very close to me you thought I was great. Great job, great friends, travel, cute outfits most of the time, always in Las Vegas. But you see, I was either on fire or near comatose – I had no in-between. I struggle with depression still and sometimes my world looks bleak and sometimes I just feel nothing. If you don’t know, depression looks different on everyone. For some it is situational sadness or grief. For some, like me, it is just a chemical thing in your brain. No amount of boot-strapping, talking, or crying can quiet my negative self-talk. For me, when I am struggling I double down by adding anger and self-loathing for not being able to control it. I’m a control-freak like that. I see it happening. I see the black. But I can’t stop it.

Two years ago, I was in that place – of not caring about consequences, unable to pull myself out of the abyss and really, really angry. A close friend knew and saw what was happening.  She did all she could to help me – even calling repeatedly each morning to get me out of bed to go to work. She really thought I should get a dog. I thought she was high. I couldn’t take care of myself much less a living thing. So, instead she went out and got the exact kind of dog I wanted – a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. She even named her damn dog what I would have named mine. After holding Ellie, I took a gander at her breeder’s website.  Mistake. Big Mistake.  I saw Boone. That was it.  A click, a note, a reply and Boone was mine. Well, mine in eight weeks.

I poured myself into pinning things about dogs, reading all the ‘Dog Whisperer’ books, monogramming things with his name on them. Nesting, if you will.

I’m not saying that I was suddenly cured – I wasn’t. But I had a glimmer of hope. I even took a week of Pup-ternity leave when I brought him home.

Little did I know that in just a few short weeks I would begin a journey of many, many lows and a few highs that would test my resolve like seldom before. Most of my life’s achievements have been defined through career achievements. I equated being a successful person with being a successful professional. So being laid off was an ego deflating blow for me. I came home the evening I was let go and cried on my couch. But for the first time in a long time I wasn’t alone with my tears. Boone was right beside me – actually on top of my head – as he liked to do as a puppy.

The next morning I didn’t need to wake to an alarm clock. Any other time this type of life occurrence would allow me to lay in bed for days to wallow in what a failure I was. But Boone had to pee… so no time for wallowing. I had to get up, had to get dressed and had to face the outside. This began two years of having someone who cried with me but then pushed me out the door. He was beside me down 35 to San Antonio. And again up 35 to Dallas. Beside me for first date awkward meetings and last date awkward goodbyes. Though confined to the kitchen, he was with me through staying at Big Sara’s and even won her over. Now he is still right beside me.  Seriously, right beside me.  He has to always be touching me.  Right damn beside me.

The past two years I’ve continued to fight my black periods – those times when I can’t face the world. No reasons behind the hiding … it just is. Just how my brain works. Through all of that, he has forced me to get back up. He loves to sleep so he lets me escape for a while but eventually he gets right in my face and nudges me. The nudge is for me to pet him but it’s a nudge. It would be a serious lie of omission not to admit that there was a time or two when the fear of leaving him behind kept me here. It may seem trivial to some and some can’t fathom being so attached to a dog. My dog, Boone has never wavered in his affection and devotion to me and often his nudges were the only way I pulled myself out of the darkness.

So how does that get us to the resurgence of your favorite blog? Well, I finally feel like I have more to offer the world than darkness and shadows. I finally care again about being true to me. True to me is two things: openness and the written word.

So here we go again. You have Boone to thank… or possibly blame for whatever happens on this blog in the future.  All I know is that now I Believe in the unshakable bond between a girl and her dog.

More to come, adoring public!

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