Between sobs, I heard him say in a slow, sad voice, the kind that can come only from a father who feels his daughter’s grief, “You know what you need, Les? You need a dog.”

Just 2 weeks shy of Thanksgiving, one of the few that my parents were flying in to share, my boyfriend and I abruptly ended our long relationship. It had died a long, slow death, so though it was a healthy change, you would have never been able to tell by one look at my swollen eyes and ratty sweats. I have always subscribed to the theory that my bipolar magnifies a situational depression 1,000 times.

The K-9 thought registered somewhere in between the aroma of overly cooked turkey and my complete inability to stomach it. Glasses clinking, heart breaking.

That night, as I lay in bed, I pondered – what would it be like to have a puppy snuggled up against me? And then, I wondered how soon I could make it happen. It  would surely be as effective if not more, than therapy and tranquilizers – both of which I had plenty of.

My Break-Up-Dog found me just a few short days later.

Hesitating upon entry into the pet store, I found that Marshall’s and TJ Maxx are excellent places to work through my feelings of pain and loss and to my luck, they happened to be in the same shopping center.

Bags in hand, full of clearance items I needed; California King sheets (in case I ever bought a king size bed), a salt shaker with no mate (I could find the mate later at a yard sale some day) and impossibly high heeled fuchsia pumps – size 8 (in case my feet shrunk), the healing process began. Yes, I was feeling better already.

Shrieking birds, kittens meowing, hamsters racing, and disinterested employees shouting, “May I help you?” all nearly snapped my fragile state of being.

I walked slowly, past the fish, past the reptiles, past the meowing kittens until I arrived at the wall of dogs. There were countless tiny, fluffy bodies sprawled across shredded newspaper, warm puppy bellies rising and falling in the kind of blissful sleep only a puppy knows. Naps that lasted just minutes then up and scrambling again to the front of their cages, tumbling over one another to get to the Plexiglas window where, over sized human faces appeared and where the tap, tap, tap of their fingers were.

Walking slowly, stopping at each cage, I was captivated by the thought of how nice it must be to be a dog. Only the present moment holds a puppy’s interest. No regrets. No grudges or worries. No real cares. Not until I reached the very last cage, was my theory challenged. Peeking out from behind the neon sign that announced his clearance price, he found me.

Huge, expressive, black/brown eyes shone sad out of this puff of red, chocolate and tan fur. Still as a moment, he sat staring at me. All alone he sat in a turned over metal bowl, no playmates or siblings to nudge or share a tug toy with. His paws were so small he had difficulty walking in his cage when the newspaper parted and opened to the abyss.  I joined the others and tapped, expecting this little creature to leap forward, tongue licking, paws pushing. Nothing. I tapped again, still nothing. “Would you like me to take him out?” the employee chirped from behind. I glanced once more and eyes diverted … against my better judgment and with a total loss of control … the word “Yes” escaped my mouth.

A little area in the corner, sectioned off by a charm inducing white picket fence complete with faux grass carpet, awaited me. I opened the gate and sat on the “park bench” as instructed. A few moments later she returned with what would become the love of my life. She gently pushed him towards me with a “isn’t he such a little punkin?”  He fit perfectly in the crook of my neck and perfectly in the nook of my heart.  His back paws dangling on my chest, an audible sigh escaped him. I had expected playful. He barely moved and when I pulled him away to look at him, he clung to me with the grip of a spider monkey. I placed him on the grass like floor and again, he sat still as if he thought one move might make this towering human change their mind – head shaking no – lips expressing thank yous and fingers pointing back to a cage holding a different dog.

After one look at my doggie acquisition resume, all of them from shelters, I had earned the right to arrogantly wonder how anyone could be so selfish as to spend money on a pet when so many, abused and abandoned animals are waiting. Yet, I asked myself could I skip a car payment without destroying my credit? Oh to hell with it, and after endless paperwork my new love and I were out the door. In a matter of 3 miles, I must have pulled over 3 times to check on my new little guy.

After a little research, I discovered he was a trendy mix of breeds … what is referred to as a “designer dog.” He’s a Cairnoodle – parts Cairn terrier (think Wizard of Oz), Poodle and Tasmanian Devil.

My little monster – this impossibly precious, furry little creature – has been with me through 2 break ups, 1 job loss, 5 moves and  1 entry into perimenopause.

I can feel absolutely horrible and if for only 1 moment, he will make me forget that fact. The colossal joy he displays upon seeing me makes it possible for me to get out of my head and absorb the affection and love this little guy has been waiting hours to give to me. There are no words to describe this feeling but any of you dog owners out there can attest to this experience. He lives to play and to be with me. Maybe one day, I’ll have a husband that does the same but until then, this is one paw I’ll never let go of.

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From Psych Central's website:
Tweets that mention K9 Comfort – My #1 Tool for Depression | Light, Laughter and Life -- Topsy.com (March 28, 2010)

    Last reviewed: 27 Mar 2010