It was a nice, mild Fall day out today - so I took my dog for a walk. About seven months ago, my wife and I got a little Boston Terrier for her birthday. We named her Abby - and she's been our pride and joy since we got her. Having a pet has been theraputic for me. She's sweet, loyal and fun - and she's very loving. When I do dialysis, she sits on the couch on the opposite side of the room, just watching me sometimes. She knows not to come near the machine or me when I'm on it - it's like some kind of weird sixth sense, because she never makes any attempts to jump into my lap when I'm dialyzing. As soon as Jordan takes out the needles, she jumps into my lap, licks my face, then curls up in my lap to keep me company.
I think it's pretty awesome.
So, when I'm feeling well and feisty, I love it when I can take her for a walk. It's funny how just the simple act of walking my dog makes me feel so free - it's the little bouts of normalcy and routine that make you remember that you aren't just some patient and that you're alive. It stinks, because the moments are much further and farther between these days. Some days, I can only lie on the couch as Abby takes a nap on my stomach. But at least she's there.