I’ve always lived in homes with pets. Pre-recovery, when I had a bad day (and, pre-recovery, every day felt bad), I’d hide in my room and drink, and when our cat or dog would come to see me I’d growl at them and tell them to piss off. Quit bugging me.

It’s a little different now. If I have a bad day, or if I’m just not in the best of moods, as soon as I get home I sit down on the living room floor, and several of our pets (the menagerie we have is a story for another time, or a different blog) come over to see what’s going on. They climb in my lap or bump their heads into me, or lick my face. And I immediately feel better.

I guess all I’m saying is that the means to pulling ourselves up is always there, but you have to pay attention and take advantage of it.

Good dogs. Woof.