Love can heal in magical ways

For those of you who follow me on social media, you may have noticed a little black dog suddenly appearing three months ago in random photos and videos. A few exceptionally observant followers asked about the new arrival, but mostly her presence went unnoticed, perhaps because there were already so many dogs in my photos it was hard to keep track. Her arrival was a big deal, but I wasn’t ready to tell the whole story until now.

Regular readers may remember that our whole family had COVID in December. You also may remember that I was experiencing symptoms for months afterward. Unfortunately, I still am, although much, much less frequently and much less intensely.

March, however, was one of the hardest months of my life. I was sick, confused, starting to feel like I was never going to get better, and perhaps worst of all, despite constant trips to clinics, zoom meetings with professionals, and a mounting stacks of medical bills, no one had a clue what was actually wrong with me.

Was it psychosomatic PTSD from being so sick and trapped in our house during those terrible winter storms? Was it solely long COVID? Was it something that COVID had unmasked, or was it totally unrelated? I knew I needed to focus on taking it one day at a time, but some days the symptoms were so oppressive I could barely make it one hour at a time.

Right before we’d all gotten sick, a neighbor had posted pictures of a litter of tiny bulldog mix puppies. Their wee smoshed faces, chubby bellies, and short, wobbly legs were endearing and adorable. I showed the pictures to my husband. “Good thing we already have too many dogs,” I said with a laugh.

It was true — with two house dogs (aka full-time pets) and one aging, guard dog (aka part-time pet), we definitely didn’t need another dog. But I kept returning to our neighbor’s Facebook page to look at pictures and videos of the puppies as they grew, especially after I got sick, simply because their cuteness cheered me up.

By the end of March, I’d forgotten all about the puppies though. Endless cold, endless illness and endless fatigue were all I could imagine. And then, after yet another doctor’s appointment where they’d scheduled yet another expensive test that no one actually thought would reveal anything but somehow seemed better than doing nothing, I ran into that very neighbor in the parking lot of a random farm supply store.

At that point, I only left the ranch for doctor’s appointments, so it was weird that I was even there, but when the neighbor waved me over, opened the door to her vehicle, and into my arms jumped a wriggling half-grown bulldog it felt like fate. “Oh, it’s my puppy,” I heard my own voice say inside my head.

I quickly recovered my senses, handed the puppy back, then got into my car for the long drive home. I allowed myself a sigh of longing, and once again, clear as a bell I heard my own voice say: “Look, you can get that puppy, or you can keep getting expensive tests. It’s up to you.”

Long story short, I haven’t gotten any expensive tests since that day. And that little bulldog has slept under the covers by my feet or with her head on the pillow like a human, nearly every night since.

We call her “Little Bea,” and she is just as full of all the sweetness and naughty delights as you’d expect a tiny bulldog puppy to be. If I’m sitting, she’s in my lap. If I’m walking, she’s by my side. She has a small bed in the passenger seat of my car for long drives. I joke that she’s my therapy dog, but I’m actually not joking.

It’s hard to understand why the heart wants what it wants, and there’s really no satisfying definition for love. But we know it when we feel it, and love truly can heal in magical and unexpected ways.