Well, it happened. One week ago today, I tested positive for COVID-19. After two years plus of caution, I, along with at least three of my other friends, who had been equally vigilant, tested positive this past week. I will post more details about my experience soon. As of today, I am doing very well…

But before it all, I wanted to write about the daily joy of my life: my dogs.

Wyatt and Ki make me laugh at least three times a day and are a big reason I have not grown extremely depressed throughout the pandemic.

Both dogs are mutts as well as rescues. Wyatt, the tan dog in the photo, came into my life first. He was rescued and meant to be my third service dog. But after a month of training by the woman who trained my second dog, it was obvious he became distracted far too easily. I had already met him and fallen in love, so he became our pet.

My neighbor rescued Ki, the white dog, as a puppy eight years later. She visited our house almost every day and kept Wyatt on his toes, who was already considered an old dog. So when my neighbor, who is over 70, could not take care of her anymore, she became ours.

They chase each other, play keep away, bark at passersby together…But they’re very different too. Wyatt’s tall and skinny, Ki’s short and all muscle. Wyatt’s very food-driven and will eat almost anything, Ki is not and is very picky.

But I am not the leader of the pack—that honor goes to my boyfriend, Greg—their food supplier and consistent petter. When we first got him, I tried to at least put Wyatt’s bowl down at mealtime. For myriad reasons I won’t bore you with, that didn’t last, and I didn’t even try to do that with Ki.

I try to make my touch as loving as I feel, but that doesn’t always translate well. My hand will sort of plunk down on their head instead of gently resting and my motions are erratic—not exactly soothing.

So when Wyatt lets me lie my head on his belly or Ki jumps on my lap, while we are driving in the van,

I am happy. (By the way, there is no picture of Wyatt letting me do that because he hates to get his picture taken and whenever we even just get out the phone, he leaps up from under me.)

I love when Ki barks at Wyatt, trying to get the old dog to play. I love when Wyatt plays keep away, but my favorite is the howling. You can almost always count on Wyatt to respond to a siren on his own. I love seeing him stop to listen to the call of the fire/police and watching the wheels of his brain turn as he calculates his feedback. If he seems hesitant, I may add my own encouraging noise. Then his lips curl, (do dog lips curl?), then tilts his head back and it lets a shrill howl soar. Even better–Ki joins in with her dainty, oddly deep cry.

Canine therapy at work.

Until the next…