A gentle tear rolled down my cheek as I sat on my back steps playing with Maggie.
"What are we going to do, girl?" I asked her. "Rosa hates us. My father is not speaking to me. My mother is in serious trouble by my father. It is all so screwed up. All for fourteen dollars."
Maggie cocked her head to the side seemingly saying, "Don't worry. Let's play!" She grabbed a stick in her jaws and took off across the backyard at a furious gait. I wiped away the tear and smiled. And then took off running with her. Maggie's jubilant jumps of sheer joy bringing giggles to my voice.
I know I looked crazy to all my neighbors. A grown 35 year old man playing with his dog in the back yard like a child. It felt so freeing though, and I haven't laughed so hard in years. In my last post, I spoke of little joys. Maggie was the soothing balm to ease my aching heart. All mentally ill people should be allowed to have a pet -- companions through thick and thin. Never harsh. Never judgmental. Unconditional love. A lesson my father could learn by watching me and Maggie interact.