Sunday, July 15, 2018

Maeve Higgins

A dog in New York City is a portal to a different, fuzzier city. On our very first walk, a man in a white van rolled down his window to shout something at me. I braced myself, pretending I couldn’t hear him, as every woman has learned to do. But he just yelled, “Not to be weird but she’s so cute, I’m dying!”

In the overheated city park that is life today, within the grown-up playground of mental health, you’ll find me teetering on the anxiety seesaw. I can’t explain how, but this big furry dog helps me stay steady. I have a million worries, but after throwing a ball and waiting for her to bring it back 10 times, I feel better. I rest more.

My unscientific theory is that sleeping is contagious, and Shadow’s main hobby is naps. I’m from a big Catholic family where everyone feels terrible about relaxing, so this is new for me. When my sister calls from Ireland, I frantically do-re-mi before I answer but it’s not enough to hide the fact that my voice is still thick with sleep.

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