I say a lot of things I never do.  I never got the Vespa I wanted and may never will.  I never took my sister mini-golfing like I promised.  I wanted to be a zookeeper, but I let my mother bully me into something else.   I said I was going to quit engineering, and I never did.  Hundreds of art projects go conceived, discussed, and unstarted.  My intentions for exercise never quite make it off the ground.  Owning and caring for a Corgi was a dream I always talked about but never really expected to happen.

In 2009, after struggling with a festering depression for over two years, I thought about suicide quite often.  On a warm July night, I broke down and thought seriously about ending it all.  I ended up on the beach with a shovel and I dug a hole until I grew exhausted.  I decided then that I would seek help.  Seeing a therapist and being fed medication did little to alleviate the dark cloud surrounding me.  I slept, and when I wasn’t sleeping, I tried to succeed at a field I despise—and when I wasn’t doing either of those things, I thought about nothing.  I was changing my diet, attempting to exercise without aggravating an injury from the previous year, switching medicines, seeing a therapist twice a week, and yet nothing seemed to help.  Then, I decided it was time to do something I wanted to do for a change.  I wanted a Corgi, and God help me, I was going to get one. 

I exhausted the internet to learn about Corgis and dogs in general.  I learned about puppy training, dog breeding, dog food, and dog health.  I made lists of things my dog would need, when he would need them, why he would need them, and how much they would cost.  During these hours, I felt rejuvenated.  For once, I was doing something I wanted to do without the approval of my mother or my friends, and I was doing it to the best of my ability with much more enthusiasm than you would expect from a chronically depressed teenager.  My therapist, my friends, my family, and, most importantly, I noticed that my mood improved drastically.  I was still on medication, but I was happiest at my computer absorbing all the knowledge I could about my future dog.  Before I even knew who he was, he pulled my head above water and made waking up a little easier.

A year ago today, I brought him home.  I’m without medication/therapy and have been for some months.  He saved my life. He’s more than a dog—he’s MY dog, and I cannot be more grateful for him entering my life.  No amount of cookies could show him how much he means to me, but he knows, I’m sure.  Sometimes, I still doubt this is really happening.  He’s a literal dream come true.  

I love you, man.

You're the sweetest, most caring animal I know.

I'm really proud of you.

Here's to many, many more years with the best dog I could ask for.