With a black dog.

 Winston Churchill battled against depression most of his life. He described his depression as the "black dog" that chewed at his mind and soul.  To some this descriptor might invoke the frightening image of an ominous black figure always looming slowing behind you in every aspect of your life ready to bite at a moments notice.  It is creepy and dark imagery to be sure, and I understand the description, yet the first time I heard of battling depression being described as walking the "black dog", I had to smile.

My image of a "black dog" will always be different.  A vision of peace, companionship and amazing love.

In her youth my sweet Kona was just a ball of energy and spunk.  She would chase a tennis ball until her feet fell off if she could, and she loved to be outdoors. Yet, she would never run away.  She always stayed nearby and hence was a great dog on or off a leash.  This made her the perfect dog to take to the beach, to take on leisurly walks.......and most importantly to take running, which had always been my dream.

My husband made my dreams come true around our one year anniversary. I had told him of my dreams of owning a beautiful black Labrador, and that her name would be Kona.  And on a beautiful day in January in downtown Baltimore, Maryland we found her!  She was in a cage at the SPCA and as soon as we turned the corner, it was love at first sight. We adopted her!



She was a beautiful and young 2 year old and we couldn't have been happier to have her be part of our little family.  She became my best friend as my husband was gone or deployed working. She became my safety at night when I didn't want to sleep alone in our ghetto apartment in Baltimore.  She became my baby, and I was in love.  Best of all, she was my running companion and protector. She was my dream come true and then some.  Kona dutifully moved around the country with us from Baltimore, to Southern Virginia, to Southern California, and to New Jersey.  She was always with me for runs, walks, and trips to the mail box.  I work from home and Kona would always be my companion through hours of transcription.  She sat at my feet, and slept and listened for anything that might be amiss to warn me of.

She was part of our family to be sure, but she was mine.  She was my baby, my puppy, my friend, my confidant, and most importantly my therapy.  Kona was intuitively aware of my illness, and would never leave my side in times of deep sorrow and despair.  She laid at my feet or next to my side of the bed, even walking me from room to room to be with me wherever I went.  She was always there to nuzzle and love and petting her gave me peace at times when I could find it no where else.  She knew me, and I needed her. 

My sweet Kona was part of our lives for more than 11 years.  She eventually slowed to the point where running was no longer an option and evenutlaly cancer took my sweet girl's life.  Though it has been a few months since her passing not  a day goes by where I don't acutely feel her absence.  I constantly miss her sweet calming love and care for me.  I know it may sound strange to some, but my relationship with her was perfect and exactly what I needed.  I only hope I did as much for her as she did for me, and I will miss her until the day I die. 

I always think of my sweet girl when I run.  My last run with my girl was last Thanksgiving when she tried so very hard to keep up to complete the 3 miles that day.  Her body was so weary and she did amazing at first, but as the race wore on I could almost see her face begging me to slow down because she didn't want to lose me.  She was suppose to protect me and always be with me but her body just wouldn't let her any more.



I dream of her now being free and running so hard that I can't keep up.  And someday I think I'll be able to run with her again.

For now the imagery of walking a black dog is one of strength and comfort to me, and I will always be "running with my black dog" in my thoughts.