I’d finally gotten on medication for my depression, but I still wasn’t leaving the house much. In a gesture of support, my friends at the leather club decided to get me a puppy. At sure I was hesitant because pups are a lot of work. After just a week of owning one though, I began to enjoy having his needs to focus on instead of mine own. My therapist did say that having a routine was important.

Every morning, the pup would wake me up by jumping on the bed; he’d cuddle the hell outta me while rubbing his whiskers against my shoulder. He had to be let out to relieve himself and walked before breakfast, so normally he’d bring me the leash too. Once, I clipped the leash on and fell back asleep. A few minutes later I woke up again because he was making the mattress bounce. I forced open an eye and saw him sitting there, bright eyed and eager, leash in mouth and ready to go. Christ, he was adorable. I cracked a smile for the first time in weeks. “Alright, alright,” I threw off the blanket, “You win.”

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