I keep hoping
Maybe this is just lost time
Maybe this is one of those bouts of long term psychosis — that living nightmare I used to weather and never could wake from

Yes, I keep hoping
Maybe this is a fugue state
A really long one
Maybe this is some dystopian reality of my tormented minds own makin…

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When I got laid off two months ago, I received all sorts of notes and inquiries. Most were offerings of kindness and solidarity while some wanted answers and others wanted to give advice. Many said that things happen for a reason. All of the notes were well-intended, but one note in particular stuck with me. 

‘I know it doesn’t feel like this right now a…

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It is indeed a different day that I’m writing to you this week. I landed myself with a case of the spring flu last weekend and it certainly got the best of me. I’d actually never heard of the spring flu but I guess these unprecedented Covid times lead to unprecedented realities. The bug had me sleeping all day Monday and Tuesday as m…

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I am still here.

WE ARE STILL HERE.

It’s been four months - to the day - since Waffle’s spleen ruptured and she almost died. Writing that sentence still brings me to tears. I don’t think there will ever be a time it doesn’t.

I don’t have words for the honor that is being her momma. I really don’t. 

I also don’t have words for the honor t…

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I started moving for my mind again this week. For clarification, that means I started exercising again. I’m on day two of two and feeling all sorts of sore. Is this what aging is? Getting sore from a two mile (walk/)run? Well, I’m all about it because it is proof that I am showing up for me.

I think we often look at discomfort as we…

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Before I dive in, I do want to be very up front about a few things…

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For the past few weeks, I have shared one of the writing forms that I planned to include in this newsletter: chapters from Doctor Waffle, the story of my life and the dogs I was blessed enough to encounter within it. It has been an honor sharing these chapters with you and your response has been kinder than I could have ever expected.

But today, I offer you a new form. Maybe it's the spring sunshine that is calling me to share this different piece or maybe it is simply that my depression is still heavy and deep like a once-in-a-century blizzard and walking through the next chapter of my darkest times felt too hard to face right now. Either way, today, I present to you a new content form – Dog Truths — because dogs always know best.

Morning Friendship - First and Always.

When we moved to this gorgeous house four years ago, we bought it without meeting the neighbors or even checking out the neighborhood. We knew the town well - it's the one I grew up in – but my husband, Dave, and I weren’t planning to buy a house when we did. I had just started at The Dogist and on top of building out the business, we were both chest deep in planning for our wedding that was happening in early September. Our plates were full to the brim but when our agent shared the listing of the house, we knew we had to carve out time to at least visit it.

It was a raw spring day when we came the first time but mud season had undoubtedly arrived. Traipsing in the front door with filthy boots, the largest mudroom I had ever seen greeted us. Only Vermonters would truly understand such a necessity but at that moment, I knew this spot wasn’t something we could consider lightly. As we toured the house in stocking feet, I remember watching Dave enter the kitchen. His smile lit up the whole downstairs. A deeply passionate (and good) cook, the kitchen was always his happy place and that kitchen – what became our kitchen – was purely that - his happiest place. 

I don’t know if it was the moment he beamed while inspecting the extensive countertops or when I walked into the room from which I write you always – the one with massively high ceilings and sunlight always - or when we took in the view from the upstairs porch nestled up high in with the tips of the trees, but that first day, we knew that house was our home. We just knew it was ours and even with our plates full to the brim, we weren’t going to miss our chance. After all, there’s always room for dessert, right? 

Luckily for me, there is always room for dessert even when my plate is chock full. There is always room when it comes to places that are meant to be. Of course, being meant to be did not diminish the the overwhelming chaos of closing and moving in. With many competitive offers being placed on the house, we signed the offer papers miles in the air on a flight to Philadelphia and, after months of paperwork and closing documents, we were so busy with work and wedding planning, we couldn't even move in properly. Too busy to organize everything those first few weeks, we put all our furniture and boxes in the garage and a mattress on the floor as a bed. Waffle was so distressed by the untamed nature of it that she either lay on top of me or under my truck, determined not to be left behind.

Boxes piled high in the garage with our dishes and appliances, clothes and furniture, we ate take out on the floor that first night before collapsing on the mattress to sleep. The first morning in the house - in our home - our home, those words - Waffle woke me first, as was often the case back then. With a nose boop and a smooch, she roused me from my exhaustion. I stumbled about to find a pot the previous owners had left and I brewed coffee with it and my chemex as Waffle ate her Farmer’s Dog out of a to-go lid. Then, throwing on yesterday's clothes, I ushered us out the door - determined to find a semblance of normalcy in our tried and true morning walk. 

To my surprise, walking out the door, we were greeted with three welcome cards from our new neighbors along with a tupperware of cupcakes and a bag of dog cookies. Each note was kinder than the one before…

Welcome to the Hill…

We are so glad to have you joining us…

You don’t know it yet, but you are now part of the Hill family and we could not be happier to have you here.

The notes were filled with warmth and love and I hadn’t even met these mysterious neighbors yet.

I shared a cupcake with Waffy (see I told you I always had room for dessert), and we moseyed out the driveway. At the end of it, we found a handmade garland hanging across it, dancing in the early morning breeze. In bright, blue capitals on top of fluttering fabric triangles, it proclaimed, 

WELCOME TO THE HILL KATE, DAVE, AND WAFFLE 

I found myself speechless for a moment. Where had we found ourselves? Cupcakes? Cards? Cookies and a welcome garland? What did we do to deserve this kindness? Waffle, mistaking my awe for a dissociation, pawed at my shin. I smiled. “Yes, girl. A walk. You're right. A walk, always. So, which way, Bunny? Which way should we go on our first ever walk in our first and forever home?” 

Waffy bunny hopped with a smile and swaggered her way out the dirt driveway. She turned to the left and began to mosey up the hill. In appreciation of her decisive nature, I followed groggily behind. We walked in a playful tango – her smelling, me giggling and both of us, every so often, pausing to take it all in. When we reached the crest of the hill, we found ourselves overlooking a massive, glowing field, reflecting the sunrise in a mirage of pinks on its dewy grasses.

We both stood there in wonder looking at this new playground we had just discovered - this paradise, mere minutes from our house. A sprightly pup bounding across the road jarred us from our gazing and close behind, a woman in galoshes followed in the white dog’s wake. Balancing nimbly on a thin bridge laid over the wide ditch, they entered what we could see was another massive field spanning far beyond our view on the other side of the road up ahead. Waffle, pausing for permission, cocked her head towards them. Her bright smile softened my tense and startled shoulders but my anxiety still took hold. “No Bunny, not today, not yet.” With a wave, I tried to usher her back down the hill but she wasn’t having it. She wasn’t having it at all.

Waffle playfully head butted my hip and then, with a leap, proceeded to take off up the road in pursuit of the pup and her owner. A few bounds beyond me, she paused and looked back grinning. Beaming in mischievous delight, she checked to make sure that I was coming. Who was I to withhold such joy? Shrugging, I conceded my hope for an anxiety and stranger free morning walk and followed after her.

In the middle of the field, soaked through by the thick morning dew, I finally caught up. In front of me sat Waffle and the bright, fluffy white pup. A cookie in each hand, the woman said, “Okay you two. One for you and one for you” and then looking at me, “and I’d give you one, if you’d eat it too.” She laughed and I joined her, my shyness thawing with her good humor. 

Waffle devoured her cookies, and after finally accepting that the woman’s pockets had been emptied, she and the other pup took off in zoomies. Frolicking in glee, they disappeared into the the thick grass as the woman approached me, her blonde white hair shining brightly in the cresting sun. “Hi, I’m Diane and that is – well that was Tillie. It is so wonderful to have you here, Kate. Care to join us for a walk?” 

It has been almost four years since I joined Diane and Tillie on that morning walk and to this day, every single morning, we always walk and we always turn left up the hill. No matter the season, weather or temperament of my moods, every morning walk is a walk up the hill to see Tillie and Diane, our beloved morning friendship. Every day, after breakfast, the first stop is their house. Even on days when they beat us out the door, Waffle refuses to walk the field without checking their porch and kitchen first, just to be sure. Her rules are simple. Friendship first. And always.

When we moved here, I had never really experienced neighbors. I grew up in the woods where the closest house was a mile away so I had always dreamed of what it might be like to have them but what I have found here on the hill is so much better. I have found people who bring me casserole when my mental illness flares and invite me to every single event of their lives like family. I have found friends who drop off a card – just because – and always slow down, wave, and check in when they drive past me and the girls on the road.  I have found humans who accept the all of me, even if that means using their bathroom without asking or collapsing in tears on their mudroom floor. And, I have found the power in always living with unconditional kindness, a kindness that very few ever get to know. Yes, in moving here, I have found the joy and grin that Waffy discovered that first morning and continues to find in every zoomie and morning approach ever since. 

I have found friendship, the chosen family you can count on - the people you always see first before your day can even dream of beginning and the ones that feel like home, home always. 

Yes, what started as just a morning walk has become so much more than that now. 

It is a practice of love and choice. It is the art of opening ourselves to others and letting them all the way in, even as the hard takes hold. It is the act of believing that true greatness lies beyond us and in our connection with others. It is the power of morning friendship, first and always, the greatest gift we can know in this life and one I will forever hold wholly sacred and never shy away from ever again.

Tonight, at 5:30pm EST, we will have our first The Patient is In - Welcome Zoom(ies). The hour long conversation will include a discussion of any and all topics you submit in the google form below.

Please note: The Patient is In is only for paid subscribers.

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I was floored by your kindness last week. You showed up for me and my words with such deep love. 

Thank you.

Of course, I can’t say that your kindness got rid of all my anxiety but to rid myself of anxiety might be to rid the world of me entirely. Since we certainly don’t want that, I’ll continue making peace with my fear and showing up…

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What if I don’t honor Waffle, you or our story with my words? You all showed up for me – here – in a newsletter and none of the words I’ve been writing for the past few weeks seem right. How can I be sure that what I write here, for you, is worthy of reading? …

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