When I was in grade 3, around 8 years old, my mother was having a hard time. I think she must have been experiencing a bout of depression, or perhaps the ol’ undiagnosed autistic/ADHD burnout. She was spending a lot of time immobilised in her chair. Something which years later I myself was to experience when my children were little. I am not sure if it was a recommendation from a doctor, or if she just realised herself that she needed some recovery time, but anyway, it was arranged with my friend’s parents who lived around the corner,  that I would stay at their house for a number of nights.

Normally I loved having sleepovers. And I loved spending time with this particular friend. She was my best friend at the time. But on this occasion, perhaps because I was not involved in the arrangement at all and had no choice, or perhaps because it felt like I was being sent away, or perhaps because it seemed like such a long time, 3 or 4 days, when I had only ever slept over for one night at a time, or perhaps because I knew something was wrong, I started feeling very anxious.

During my stay at my friend’s house, I kept my anxiety hidden from my friend and her family. I masked my feelings the whole time. I was a good girl, behaved well, was polite and agreeable. But inside I was raked with anxiety and deep sadness. I could barely get through. I was not having fun.

On the second or third day I wondered home. I wanted to see my dog, and visit my garden. I needed some familiarity. I knew that I wasn’t meant to go into the house, so I went to the fish pond and squatted next to it, saying hello to our fish. I had never appreciated them in such a way. It felt comforting to be in my garden. I could rest, and be myself. I was in my garden, which I knew so well.

Then, my mum- who’s chair was inside right next to the window by the pond- pushed aside the curtains and rapped on the window, telling me to go away:

‘What are you doing here? You are not supposed to come home yet. Go away.’

Without protest I sadly left again and returned to my friend’s house, not mentioning what had happened to anyone.

By the end of each day, after keeping my distress hidden, I was exhausted. When it came to bed time, once my friend was asleep, I would cry into my pillow, hoping no one would hear. It took every bit of effort to hold on to my feelings until everyone was asleep, when I could finally let it out, stifling my sobs into the soft pillow. I had trouble sleeping, and lay awake for hours fretting, feeling so alone, which only made the day time worse as I didn’t have enough sleep.  

Then, on perhaps the third night, I was laying there eyes wide open. I could hear the rhythmic rise and fall of my friend’s breath as she slept, and I was in such deep despair. I was at my lowest point. I truly felt so alone and there was no one who could comfort me. Suddenly, a neighbouring dog started to whine. The dog’s whine grew into a melancholy howl. Another dog nearby joined in, howling too, and then another, and another, until all around me, there was a chorus of dogs howling together, in an absolute cacophony coming from all directions. Perhaps, just around the corner my own dog Kerry, a dark brown cardigan corgi, was also joining in. I was astounded. I had never heard anything like it, and still to this day I haven’t heard anything like it again. I lay and listened to this incredible chorus of dogs howling, like they all shared my deep sense of sadness, and I started to feel not so alone. I really felt like the dogs could feel what I was feeling, and were expressing the grief and sadness that I couldn’t express, right along with me. I lay there listening to them, feeling the burden of acute aloneness and anxiety lift from my little shoulders, feeling them all comforting me, until eventually their howling subsided, and I think I must have fallen into a relaxed sleep, for the first time in days.

I managed to get by OK the rest of the time at my friend’s house. I definitely felt lighter after the dog experience. I didn’t share with anyone what I had experienced. But I carried that memory with me, and still reflect on it at times. The memory still gives me peace. It proves to me somehow that I am never alone. We are never alone. Which is why I wanted to write this post about it. Because when we transcend our fear of loneliness, we are very powerful.

Dogs sometimes experience intense loneliness and are often kept alone and away from their loved ones. It breaks my heart to hear a dog all alone crying. All over the world, animals are subjected to terrible conditions of loneliness, just for the entertainment and usage of humans. I have never liked zoos, and feel baffled that people so often don’t feel empathy for other creatures in captivity. That moment taught me that we all experience grief, loneliness and despair, yet we are all connected. I am so thankful for that experience, of being one with the neighbourhood dogs in that moment.

I tried to generate an image with AI which would capture this magical moment. Of course all of the images fell short. Still, they capture something comforting, don’t you think?