Last fall, I began to want a furry best friend. I struggle with clinical depression and around that time, my depression was especially horrible. I dreaded going home, where I would spend time alone, feeling scared and lonely. So, my parents gave me my Christmas present early — I adopted a dog.
Let me start with this: I had been a cat person up until last fall. I loved cats. Cats were what I knew and what I loved. For some reason, the idea of adopting a dog became more and more reasonable.
Last December, my sister and I made a trip to a town about 45 minutes away to a shelter I had been following on Facebook. They were posting new dogs daily on the Facebook page and I could barely contain my excitement. There were so many cute dogs that needed a new and loving home. I'm not going to lie, I wanted to take all of them home.
After about half an hour of looking, I had completely given up — I hadn't felt a connection with any of the dogs that were up for adoption. My sister and I were headed out the door when one of the shelter employees said, "Have you seen this dog?" and introduced me to my future dog.
Inside of a cage was a little, brown dog with big eyes and huge ears. She looked scared and lonely in her cage. As soon as I held her, I felt a bond with the little chihuahua/terrier mix right away and I couldn't ignore it.
About 20 minutes later, I was walking out the door with my new dog in my arms, who I named Roman. Little did I know that Roman was about to change my life and become the unexpected dosage of medicine I didn't know I needed.
She makes me get out of bed when it's difficult to. Depression is known to be bed-confining at times. Some days, I'll wake up to the full force of depression weighing on me, making it feel impossible to get out of bed and face the day. However, I can't stay inside of my apartment all day when I have a dog. Dogs don't know how to use a toilet (sadly), so I have to get up and take Roman outside. If I stay in my bed longer than Roman likes, she jumps up on my bed, whines and attacks me with kisses until I get up to take her out.
When I take her out, I'm bound to meet a neighbor who's also taking their dog out. Being forced to go outside and socialize helps me gain the courage to go on and conquer my day, instead of staying inside and refusing to see anyone.
She provides company. Even though she's a dog and can't speak English, few things are better than her company. Nothing can replace the bond between a person and their dog. The bond between a person and their pet is almost indescribable — a pet is basically an extension of their owner. Roman keeps me company whenever I'm home, whether I'm binge-watching "Real Housewives of Atlanta," or cooking in my kitchen. (She's the best food scrap cleaner, just an FYI).
When I'm feeling really low, I can count on Roman to do something adorable and/or goofy to make me laugh. Just having her big eyes look at me like I'm the greatest thing in the world makes me happy.
Feeling Roman's presence when my depression is especially bad helps a lot. Knowing that a little, furry being is counting on me to be OK helps me get the motivation to not let depression win that day.
In closing, adopting Roman proved to be one of the best decisions of my life. I don't know what I would do without witnessing her daily antics or going to sleep without her by my side.
