"D" is for dog. Or maybe depression.

This is about dogs. Or depression. Or both.

My dog Max was seriously ill this week. Of course, no one is sure what was wrong, even after $400 of blood work and x-rays. Most likely he had a GI infection. His digestion has always been his weak spot.

So I spent a lot of the week worried that he would die, had cancer, would slip away, just like my Rosie did. I tried to worry out of his range as he is very intuitive. At one point, I read dog magazines to him to take me out of fear and so he could hear and feel a more moderated voice from his mom.

I upset the birthday plans of a dear friend as I felt too guilty to leave him. Then I felt guilty about my friend's birthday celebration. But glad to stay with Max. And to reward me for making the right decision, he suddenly recuperated the next day. Although my mother's eye is trained on him like a hawk, he seems to have turned a corner. In the process, he got a new stuffed animal toy, some really tasty canned food, lots of doggy good wishes from around town, and extra attention from his Aunt Mikki. All in all, his week was probably better than mine.

The whole time this was going on, I could feel myself start to slide down the hill toward depression. Anger, agitation, irritability, ANXIETY, crying, inability to make decisions, and oh yes, did I mention ANXIETY? I hate when it gets to the point when I'm not breathing. That really sucks.

Max's illness was the latest in a series of things that have happened in the last month or so. It was the last straw in a really sucky six weeks. I'm so tired of holding on. I wish I could let go...

LR