Story of the "sick dog"

[Giyana]

I realize my tag line sounds a bit odd, but it has great meaning for me.

I had (the last of my many dogs) die about a year ago after two years of intensive nursing by me and lots of vet bills. I had moved in with my bf a year before she started to go "downhill" and our deal was that no more dogs when this one died as we both like to sail, ski and travel. (I am 65 and he is 70, so time is a consideration.) He thought I was a bit nuts, anyway, for not having her "put out of her misery"

Well, "Nellie" did die finally and I was heartbroken. Long story short, I started drinking heavily and ended up in a rehab, got out, drank again, went through an "Exorcist" time, got sober for a bit, drank again (over fear of learning to scuba-I do not like to be underwater) and got a DUI, which I HOPE and BELIEVE will be my last wakeup call!

My bf (all love and trust shaken to its foundations) said one day (meant, understandably, in a negative way): "I guess it's better to love a sick dog than not to have any dog to love." ...directed at how he was feeling about me.

I cringed when he said it, then woke up in the middle of the night and thought: "How true!!!"

I think about that often because we here, in this village and in our lives care so much about one another, and while it is better when we are "well" we know about loving ourselves and others through the "sick" times.

It is a great gift of our "affliction" which is why I am grateful for it as part of me.

Gianna (and beloved Nellie)