"Tethered" ~ By Rachel Davidson

I cup her face in my hands. She has plopped herself on the sidewalk in silent protest to the pull of the leash. Why does 2 miles feel so much harder some days than others? She is one now, which means she has boundless energy and mostly listens, unless a squirrel or cat enters the scenario. Her happy tail no longer forces her entire body into a wiggle, but her enthusiasm has not waned in her first year of life. And what a year it’s been!

After a gentle reassurance that we are almost home and an encouraging “good girl”, she’s back on all fours pacing her steps alongside mine. I look at the end of the leash and feel the tethering laid out before me. This rope that I hold onto that ensures I will not lose her. What I realize is true is that in so many ways she has become my anchor and I’m holding onto her for dear life.

In March two weeks of working from home and crossing out my social calendar felt like liberation. I would wear sweats, and pour just a touch of Bailey’s into my coffee, and read a book for hours on Saturday, and say “no” to any invitation that dared enter my inbox. Work was overwhelming, news was overwhelming, fear was overwhelming, Costco was down right terrifying, but I was fine, even relieved, to be taking a break from people. The introvert in me was actually relishing being quarantined when quarantine was only a couple of weeks.

But, as the end of April was approaching I began counting the days since I had been hugged, or even touched, by another person. I began keeping track of the days in a way that was desperate and falling and floating and untethered and deeply lonely.

For all of us who entered this pandemic single, touch has become an elusive black market drug. If we could just get a little here and there; a hand held, a quick hug, a moment of feeling connected to another living being without fearing we might kill them in our quest to feel rooted in this human experience, we’d do almost anything for it. Even risk our lives so that we can do more than survive this, even though that feels like a selfish request right now.

All of this longing to feel held down has forced me onto my couch in soggy shape more times than I care to recount in these last nine months. And it’s in these moments that my massive puppy comes bounding to me as if I tugged on an invisible leash tethering her heart to mine. She is awkward and wiggly and steps on my uterus as she searches for the best way to curl up into a lump of puppy that grounds me to her Earth. She is 63lbs holding me down in a way I never realized a non human could. I feel her warm breath as she exhales into my stomach, the purest and most innate expression of life, and my body responds with relief to the presence of such life, such love, such acceptance. I breathe along with her as the muscles in my neck stop their clenching, if only momentarily, and calm creeps into my overstimulated nervous system. She sees my longing and she raises me one long silent moment of surrender. This dog pulls me into her own gravitational force and roots me in the center of this moment where we are both ok because we are together-not isolated, not alone. She holds the end of my leash just as I hold the end of hers.

As I write this I am watching her sleep beside me on the couch. In these months of snuggles with Amelia I have learned that the capacity of my heart is limitless. She eats my favorite shoes and tears up the rug and brings me back into gratitude and cherishes my presence. Her need for daily walks has given me consistency while the world feels like it is spinning out of control, her need for play has given me distraction, her love for squirrels has given me headaches, but her love for me, in all of my imperfection and longing, has lessened the burden of this separation from all that I once called normal.

When I first met Amelia she was a mess. I arrogantly thought that I was rescuing her. Turns out she’s masterfully teaching me about humility. I wish that I could explain to her that all of this-the sky falling, the people on tv yelling, me being home with her all the time-this isn’t normal. But I think that what’s normal has shifted, and perhaps this is a stage of growing pains as move closer to what is right, a humankind aware of how we are tethered to other living beings. While we walk in the direction of healing I will hold onto this leash that she and I share and know that I’m not alone because she is at the other end of it.