Or rather. My husband gave me permission to get myself a puppy for Christmas.
It wasn't that we didn't already have an antidepressant of the fur covered variety. We actually already had three. Although arguably I wouldn't put Koda, the black ninja cat, into the helpful category. He is the only one in the family who has actually been on the blog's namesake drug and has caused too much strife in his people's lives to be considered a net positive benefit, but he has many years left to prove us wrong. I hope.
Sitka is a pure, content, fat soul who eats when he wants to, sleeps when he would like, and comes and gets attention from you when it suits him. Visibly the antithesis of his skinny, glaring, always plotting evil, cat brother.
My first true mood enhancing fur child, Malcolm, saved me from myself during the drudgery of medical school clinical rotations and reminded me that there was a world outside of the hospital when I came home from call as an intern. Who knew a rescued mutt from the streets of Yakima could have such powers?
So when 2013 became the year of things that weren't right, and sometimes entirely wrong, I knew what had to be done. The only answer was a puppy. I showed my husband the solution and was reminded I married the right man.
Meet Rue.
