No, not that Ozzy. This Ozzy is my baby, my 5-year-old Lhasa Apso. Honestly, he's the best dog I've ever had and that's saying something. He has even won over my husband--an otherwise perfect man--who didn't want a dog and is fervently looking forward to the day when there are no non-humans living in our house. "My goal is zero," he says. But, what husband/father/significant other has not wished that at one time or another after the promises of "we'll take care of the dog/cat/ferret (especially the ferret-but that's another blog)" have been forgotten? I have to say, in my defense, I do most of the Ozzy-care. And my husband was the one who let Ozzy start sleeping on our bed. I had him all trained to sleep in his crate. But I digress.
How did Ozzy save my sanity? I had a bout a few years ago with depression. Not enough to be debilitating, but I just didn't find much joy in anything. Except Ozzy. When I would get down, all I'd have to do was look at him. He's got the most wonderful eyes, deep brown and human-looking. A little spurt of happiness would well up in my heart and sometimes I would be brought to tears of joy and gratitude that God had brought him into my life. Lhasas' tails curl really tight and left to themselves, flower in a silky fur. When Ozzy chases a toy, his favorite game, his tail is like a pennant flying out behind him. He bounces as he runs, and when he gets to his toy too quickly, his front feet stop him, while his back legs bounce up off the ground. Yeah, he's cute.
He sticks with me, laying on his little cushion in my office while I work. He'll come over and sit at my feet, looking up at me with those wonderful eyes, patiently waiting for a scratch. He is a little demanding for his treats, and he's learned how to open the pantry door. "Come on, girl, come on. Get me a treat. That's a girl."
Pets are probably the nicest thing God ever did for us...second to saving us, that is. Thank you, Lord, for Ozzy.
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