Killing Dogs

The double doctorate at Stanford tells me that my writing will make my depression worse.

I know what she is saying: dwelling on negative thoughts tends to make them grow and multiply. And then, soon, you have no escape. These thoughts are the soldiers just over the ridge, on their way down into the valley that you call your sanity.

***

My dad comes into the house, and tells me, "You almost killed PeeWee." He wanders back into the den, and then says, without appearing before me, "You just can't leave her out there, [Jae]."

I find this to be interesting because we're both home, how is it my responsibility to bring PeeWee in from the kennel? Isn't she his dog?

I wait stubbornly on the couch. Finally, knowing I had to do something, I walk into the den, watching Dad stroke PeeWee with a small towel. "Give her to me," I say. "I will take her out back and hose her with cold water."

We go to the porch, and I sit PeeWee down. I start the water first on her legs, and then massage in the cold into her back and sides. Within a few minutes, she stops panting. She's relaxed. She'll be fine.