Little Guy, Big Hopes

I recently adopted a little dog, whom I absolutely adore. His history is unknown, all that is known is he's a lap dog that loves to lick noses and faces and fingers. He's adapted quickly into the household, and found his favorite spot to sleep (my pillow) and favorite spot to nap (the couch.)  In case I didn't mention it before, I'm completely smitten by his adorable eyes. I hate leaving him as he still barks when I leave, but I do love his wiggly, kiss-filled return!

Confession: I had really hoped that getting a pet, more specifically a dog, would fix a lot of my issues. I'd have someone else to take care of every day. I'd have an excuse to go out and walk at least three times a day (short as they may be!) I'd have someone to come home to who will love me unconditionally. I hoped that once I found the right pet (which I have,) things would get better.

Maybe my thinking was naive. This little guy had a lot of hopes riding on his tiny shoulders that he can't carry.  No one can.  Getting a dog may have been a great thing for me, but it sure hasn't fixed things.  Yes, I'm getting fresh air daily. I'm not spending every non-work moment in bed.  I'm working on a home routine, even if it is for this four legged little guy (who, by the way, is a sleepy-head like me!)

But I had hoped for more.... I had hoped that having a dog would magically lift the depression fog that follows me around. I hoped that my anxiety would lessen... that I'd be more hopeful about life in general.... instead, I'm feeling hopelessly in love with a little dog who can't fix me. He can't make things better. He can't make me feel less depressed or less anxious or less hopeless. He can't make my world feel any less heavy, despite his lightness.