Man's Best Friend
I read a friend’s blog today, where he posed the question of why some people refer to dogs as “Man’s best friend”, and although it was a witty, whimsical look at this social phenomenon, I felt the need to put pen to paper about my animals and why I consider them my best friends; well them and my kids anyway.
I guess the best way to do that is to go through, one by one and explain how they came to be in my life and who and what they became to me throughout the following years.
Leo
Leo, the OG fur baby in my life and home. He was my first since I had proclaimed that I would never have another animal; after I’d lost so many and had to deal with so many ‘fur-related’ inconveniences. He was a rescue that my son had sourced out, after having been told repeatedly that we were not getting another cat. Apparently, my son thought that, being alone and, somewhat isolated (in part due to work and in part to my own choices after my divorce and other dramas and traumas) would be easier with a furry companion. A constant companion who, never lied or harmed me; who was always there by my side; who was completely, faithfully devoted to me – initially, because he relied completely on me for the basic necessities of life, like food and shelter (from the cold, dark streets from where he came). Then, from a bond forged between two hurt souls who had seen the darker side of humanity and survived.
It’s funny how people react to someone; especially a female, who loves their cat. How, it’s quite acceptable to call your dog your, “best friend” but get teased about posting pictures of your cat on social media, or when suggesting that your feline friend actually helps ease your daily stress. That is what happened too; the animal that we had ‘rescued’ was helping to ‘rescue’ me, back. Through helping him feel safe and making him feel at home, he formed a trust and fondness for me that made him not only loyal to me, but also concerned for my well-being.
When Leo came into my life, it was at the height of the harassment I was enduring at work, and in the midst of countless losses. As this trust built between us, I started to feel less alone and burdened by my stress and grief. When discussing it with a friend, she suggested I look up, “comfort animals” – basically, unofficial ‘therapy’, or ‘service animals’ that help people with depression, anxiety, chronic pain, and a whole myriad of other issues to cope, by providing comfort to them when they are feeling pain, anxiety, etc. There is an extensive list of animals that do just this, and who are considered appropriate for the job (therapist approved), and of course, includes cats.
So, I built a relationship with my ‘comfort cat’ and became his ‘comfort human’, at the same time. And this tiny, furry little creature became my new constant, companionship and source of never-ending snuggles. He went from hiding; shivering and scared in a corner, to boldly requesting to be pet while he ate every morning. He snuggled with me on the sofa while I watched a movie, and took his place at the end of my bed every sleep shift (I don’t say every night because I worked shift work, at the time). And he saw me through a lot of stressors; dramas and traumas, and multiple losses. I had Leo for two years, and then along came Milo.
Milo
Milo was a ‘Boxsky’ (part Boxer, part Husky), who had been regularly, severely beaten, neglected, not properly fed, and not house-trained or exercised. He was punished for things like getting into the garbage (because he was hungry), and having accidents on the floor of the apartment (because he wasn’t walked). Milo was another ‘rescue’ of my sons. And, of course, once again he came to us after I had said, “no more animals… no dogs, especially”. He came to our home while I was on crutches and unable to walk myself, let alone a dog.
After my son brought him home, he went back to work full-time and I was left to train and care for Milo (not my son’s fault, as he had to work). It’s funny though, he came to me at such a dark and dreary time in my life; when I needed him the most, really. Neither of us knew this at the time but he needed an unofficial ‘service human’ as much as I needed a ‘service dog’.
When Milo arrived, he was a busy but skittish puppy who needed constant attention, all kinds of training and absolute patience, compassion and gentleness. I was dealing with my broken body; back and then torn knee. I was on crutches, on sick leave and spent most of my day on the couch, binge-watching TV shows and binge eating junk food. Sinking lower and lower every day. Before the knee injury, I had been posted to the ill and injured platoon, awaiting my medical release and attending school in Belleville, in the Social Service Worker program. I was producing a play and had friends and a social life, finally – meaning and purpose again for a time. Until I injured my knee.
It wasn’t like the back wasn’t bad enough. I had to add a compound injury to that, of course. Compound injuries hurt your psyche the same way compound stress does. Chronic pain, and the inability to be independent and whole can break a person. It almost did just that to me.
So, when Milo came, my life revolved around my couch – sleeping on it, binge watching TV shows on it, ordering take out from it and hobbling to the door to receive said take out or to the upstairs bathroom every few hours. I couldn’t do my own housework, couldn’t do my own laundry and couldn’t drive myself anywhere. I’d lost my ability to attend school, to work on plays, to socialize and had lost my meaning a purpose once again. Milo slowly helped me change that. After he came to us, I suddenly had meaning and purpose again – I had to train him and help him heal. I was up off the couch and walking him; hobbling in and out of the house and up and down the back roadway behind my townhouse. I was bending and moving more than I had in months, and he was helping me walk and watching out for me, as well.
Once I was finally able to drive, he and I went to the pet store and I bought him a crate. I put the crate in the living room by the couch, leaving the door open so he could use it as a dog bed and bring his toys and treats in there with him. I was still sleeping on the couch so, would shut the doors to the living room and leave his crate open for him to go in and out of throughout the night so he could use it as a bed. Most nights, I would wake up to him sleeping on my legs, on the couch.
One such night, I was tossing and turning and couldn’t sleep, and he very gently laid across my legs again. I realized he was doing it to keep me from moving in a way that caused me pain. I was finally getting some sleep, for the first time in four months. Eventually, I ditched the crutches and started using a cane and brace. Eventually, I made my way back upstairs to my bedroom to sleep in my own bed. Milo, taking his place at the foot of my bed with his new buddy, Leo.
Leo and Milo became great friends. Cuddling together and providing comfort and companionship for one another when my son and I weren’t home. We moved to Brockville, I released from the military, and started Physio and acupuncture with a civilian Physiotherapist. Soon after, I ditched the cane and knee brace and was able to walk and sleep a bit less impeded. Life was improving and a lot of it had to do with my unofficial ‘service dog’ who had forced me to get off the couch and up off my ass, and fight for my well-being again. He helped me fight for my life once again. Then along came Lou.
Lou (Emma)
Once again, my son; apparently, determined to save all of the world’s animals from harm, mistreatment and maltreatment, brought home another dog – a purebred Siberian Husky named, ‘Emma’. A dog, who when you said her name, would cower like she was in trouble. One day, when I was walking ‘Emma’, I called her ‘Emma-Lou’ (a nick-name similar to my own former alias, Linda-Lou) and her ears perked up. I repeated the word, “Lou”, over and over and she made a face that can only be described as that of the canine equivalent to a human smile.
Soon after that, her name was changed to ‘Lou Lou’, and that became her way of communicating with her humans. Howling, “Louie Louie Lou”, as though she was speaking English to us. Lou was another scared and scarred furry creature who had seen less than fair and just things in her short life, beginning with being taken from her Mom too early, and not appropriately nurtured, as any baby from any species deserves to be.
It wasn’t long before she decided that I was her Mom, and treated me, as such. To this day, she is very protective of me and very territorial, howling at anyone who dares to sit near me; people and furry creatures, alike. Lou, again played the role of unofficial, ‘service dog’ to me, and I, again found myself the unofficial, ‘service human’ to another canine friend.
Leo retreated and regressed after Lou came home though and was starting to seem depressed; sleeping all day and becoming lethargic. At one point, he was so bad that I took him to the vet because I was worried that he was sick. $400 and numerous tests later, I discovered he was lonely and acting out. So I decided to find him a feline friend and balance the fur equation in our home - and help him feel better. That’s when I found Victor.
Victor
Our local pet store has an arrangement with our local animal rescue, where they take the pets who have been recently rescued by this organization to help them be adopted out more quickly. Victor was one such animal. Victor was a fluffy orange, long-haired cat who, despite the fact that he looked quite large because of his fluffiness, was malnourished and found on the streets, like Leo. I met him when I went to this pet store to get dog treats - which later became a source of humorous jests about why I brought Victor home, in the first place (he was indeed, a real treat to the dogs).
This funny fluffball ate more often and more food than any cat I'd known. Assuming because he had been starving for months before he was rescued by this place, and later adopted by me. He ate and ate, slept and slept for the first few days; then he ate and ate, and played and played thereafter. He continues to do so to this day.
Suddenly, after introducing Victor to our home; and of course, to Leo, Leo started behaving like a kitten again. In fact, possibly for the first time. Chasing Victor around the house and playing with cat toys. This was amazing and very heartening, because I had always joked that Leo didn't know how, "to cat", because he had never had the chance to be a kitten; he'd had to grow up fast on the mean, cold streets of Kingston, Ontario.
It’s funny how similar furry creatures are to humans. They feel as deeply and manifest and express the same emotions and mental health issues that humans do. I found myself with two canine friends with anxiety and a depressed cat when Victor came along. Bringing Victor into the equation seemed to balance things out; give them all their own furry companions. All of my furry friends were finally healthy and happy, and in a good place. Just like I was, with them now in my life.
After I read my friend's blog, asking the question as to why dogs are often referred to as "Mans best friend", all I could think was that I didn't truly understand unconditional love; outside of what I felt for my children, nor did I understand true loyalty. Introducing animals into my life after I was alone, I was able to have a relationship with them, on my terms. They weren't the children's pets or a partner's furry friends that I 'inherited' when I engaged in a new relationship. They were mine, and they were a real and meaningful part of my life. They started off as my pets, then my companions, and eventually became my friends. I learned as much from them as they did from me, and healed as much through having them in my life as they did through having me in theirs. Which to me, is precisely the role of a best friend, and why I would factor a guess, that they have been given this title - because they have earned the title in the same way that they have earned that place within our hearts and lives.