When
I meet a new person and tell them that my dog, Mazor, is a rescue, they always
tell me how I did such a great thing saving a dog’s life like that. When I
start to hang out with them more, they tell me I spoil him too much. And once a
person truly gets to know the real me, they understand why I do what I do and
don’t even think twice about the lengths I will go to care for this dog.
Because what really happened when I met Mazor was not me saving his life, but
him saving mine.
The
spring semester of 2011 was not a happy time for me. I was having issues with
my roommate, my friends were unintentionally pulling away from me, and my
classes were in that gray area of being neither difficult nor easy. I stopped
going to classes most days, only attending if a homework assignment was due or
for exam reviews. My days were spent laying on the couch under a blanket and staring
at the TV for hours. I would alternate between barely eating and binge eating
junk food. Between schedule differences and drama avoidance, I stopped hanging
out with my friends entirely. And since I no longer had any lower level
classes, all my classes took place in the same building so I didn’t even have the
moderate cardio workout I used to have when I lived on campus as an
underclassman.
One
day after leaving the engineering complex, I paused because I saw this
friendly, scraggly looking dog running from person to person excitedly wagging
his tail. When the dog reached me I leant down and started petting him, he was
so excited and friendly, and love and slobber. He looked to be a light sand and
white spotted dog, his ribs were showing slightly, and he was absolutely
COVERED in fleas. None of these things stopped me from holding on to him for
dear life as I called my mother desperate for permission to keep this dog I
found.
I
don’t remember what I said, and according to my mom I wasn’t coherent I was
simply sobbing and all she could really understand was “dog” and “found” and
she was finally able to put things together and told me it was okay they’d
cover the vet expenses. So I stood up, keeping my hand on the scruff of his
neck and tried to remember where my car was and trying to figure out how to get
the dog from point A to point B when he spotted a squirrel and took off before
I could stop him.
I
ran around the corner as fast as I could, but he had disappeared. I spent the
next two hours wandering around campus looking for this dog instead of eating
lunch. I called all my friends and the ones that were free helped me look, and
I also posted a Facebook status as a last ditch effort even though most of the
people on my limited friends list were already on the lookout.
I
eventually had to give up my search to go to my bowling class, because while he
didn’t make us stay for long, Coach expected us to at least show up every day.
I was inconsolable. I barely bowled, told my corner of people all about the
dog, and fought back tears because I was unable to save him. About half an hour
into class, I got a phone call from one of my classmates who saw my Facebook
status. Not only was the dog still on campus, he was in the building right next
to the bowling alley. I literally tossed my shoes at the attendant and ran out
into the parking lot in my socks.
I
was able to call the dog back over to me and getting him into my car ended up
being as simple as picking him up and carrying him to it. I drove him to the
vet and explained what happened and they managed to work me in at the first
no-show appointment and he stayed overnight for the full found-doggie workup.
I
went from being the depressed owner of a depressed, sleepy elderly dog (who is
a story of her own) to a depressed owner of hyper, 1-year-old puppy. My entire
life was flipped upside down. I had to walk him for half an hour three or four
times a day because between my asthma and just being out of shape I wasn’t able
to take him for the jogs he really needed. He not only wouldn’t sleep through
the night, but wouldn’t let me nap during the day either. I had to change my
diet entirely because the protein-less diet that worked when I was a sedentary creature
was killing me now that I was doing more walking per day than I did in the
months up until that point.
I
didn’t recognize at the time what all I was going through. I didn’t think about
how bad my depression had gotten. Because that’s truly what it was, a
depression. I hadn’t considered it while I was going through it because I wasn’t
suicidal in the traditional sense. In hindsight, I realize I was raised being
told that suicide is the ultimate cowardly and selfish act a person can do and
dammit I refused to be a coward or selfish. But there are many ways of killing yourself;
some are just slower than others. And while it isn’t as fast as a bullet or a
bottle of pills, with an immune system as weak as mine, neglecting my health
wouldn’t take as long as you would think.
With
the lifestyle changes he forced upon me, my depression receded to a manageable level.
It has recently come back in full force for unrelated reasons, but now I am not
alone. When I start crying, he jumps up and forces me to pet him and makes
goofy expressions until I can’t help but laugh despite my sadness. When I am
too fatigued to take him on more than a short walk around the building, he
accepts this and cuddles on the couch with me as I zone out and stare at the
TV. When I forget to eat, he nudges me and runs to the fridge; and when I
forget to take my medication he won’t let me settle into bed.
People
frequently ask me if I believe in God. My answer is that, yes, I believe in a
higher being or at least in “guardian angels” or whatever you wish to call
them. I believe that it wasn’t chance that brought Mazor to me; I believe we
were brought together for a purpose.
To
save each other.
