Girl's Best Friend: Part II

The other day was National Dog Day, and it brought me back to this piece I wrote in 2021

about my favorite dog, Jax.

Important disclosure: in case you don’t click the link, Jax is not my dog.'

He’s my former neighbor’s dog who I used to walk.

That’s an oversimplification.

Jax is like… my everything dog. He was there when I got sober. He came to work with me for a year. For years, he was my near-constant companion and my best friend.

If you read the blog, that’s what would come through. That and the fact that I might be a little too dependent on Jax.  And that I might be a little crazy.

So it shouldn’t surprise you that in the spring of 2020, when I had my mental breakdown, it was Jax who I was asking for in the ER, demanding they have him brought to me at once. 

(That didn’t work by the way, they somehow refused the demands of a bipolar woman off of her meds.)

Instead, I’d see Jax after a multi-day psychiatric hold in a state mental institution. 

I remember that last walk with Jax and his dad, the morning I left to move back to Boston.  I had been so unhinged in the weeks before and his dad had shown me nothing but patience and kindness, as he continues to do to this day.

Jax trotted along beside us, all-knowing as always, somehow seeming to get it when I said my tearful goodbye. 

Jax’s Dad kept him in my life, even after my breakdown and after I moved away. 

Every few days he'd send a picture, a video, or an update, brightening what was otherwise a tough adjustment to life post-breakdown and back in Boston.  There were so many days when my Jax update was the highlight of my day, and like he had done for me in person so many times before, that dog got me through.

When I went back to work eight months after my breakdown, it was an adjustment going to the office without my trusted companion.  Even more awkward was explaining the pictures of someone else's dog I decorated my office with.  

My former coworkers had known and loved Jax.  They had their own framed photos of him in their offices; I'd given them out as the favor at Jax's 10th birthday party.

These people just didn't get it.

But somehow, surrounded by these strangers that didn't know Jax or what he meant to me, I survived.  For three years.  Until finally my dreams of moving back to Media started to seem like a possibility. 

When we were looking for apartments for my move back, I briefly entertained the idea of moving back into our old building. How great would it be to be Jax's neighbor again?

But it didn't work out that way.

And as much as I'd love to be Jax's neighbor again, I'm glad it didn't.

I love our apartment. I love our building. I love the life I've built here. I wouldn't trade it, even for Jax.

Maybe that's the difference.

Back when I wrote that original blog in 2021, Jax was a critical survival element. Today, he gets to just be Jax. 

These days, I meet Jax and his Dad for walks on the occasional Sunday morning.  His Dad still sends me updates between our visits. 

I'm no longer dependent on Jax, but I absolutely still love him.

He’s been my rock, my best friend, and my source of smiles in my darkest times. Like I said, he's my favorite:  my everything dog.