It’s that time of year again. It’s come around so fast. I’m trying not to fall apart but it’s hard, and life just keeps on hitting me with tragedies this year. I debate what to post, what to keep to myself, how much to reveal this year? I think each time around I just get vaguer.
Being “okay” is exhausting. The nights are too long, and not long enough. I am a survivor but surviving is hard. Some days I just want to give up.
We lost one of our pet rats, 14 month old Squeaky, just before 6pm on Monday. He’d been going downhill for a while so it wasn’t a surprise. He was held and stroked gently as he took his last breaths. We buried him at the corner of the shed, beside his little brother Callen who we lost seven months and a day earlier.
Walking is an outlet for anxiety that I’ve stopped utilising so much since moving to this farm. There’s nowhere to go really – the property is smallish with only one short piece of track and the rest is cattle and/or locust-filled paddocks, and walking out on the road isn’t an option because of the neighbour’s aggressive dogs that regularly escape their yard. But Tuesday Skuggi and me walked 20 minutes through the back streets of town and it felt so good. He’s slowly settling into his role as an assistance dog while Sparkie is spending more time at home. Last week he woke up from a deep sleep to do his anxiety alert, for a signal I’ve only just taught him.
My loyal Sparkie, who has been at my side since before the original event and helped keep me in some state resembling sanity each year. She’s letting Skuggi take over sometimes now, but she still keeps an eye on me at those times, just in case his response isn’t “proper.”
These two give me reason to keep fighting. My hero dogs.
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