Depression is contagious. Fortunately, there are now squirrels for that!
I read an article today by a mom who describes herself saying, “When Did I Become Broken?” As she lists, point-by-point, her mental health challenges, I find myself lifting an imaginary glass saying, “Amen sister!”* After summing up the depressing qualities of life as a single mom with autism flavorings, I am thoroughly gruntled.
But, like the mom above, I too am enjoying the thrills of DBT Therapy. I decide to do a homework assignment and galump outside—grumbling the entire way, thinking “f*ck positivity” and dragging behind me a thick cloud of despair like a cloak of wet cement.
As I practice breathing–inhale, hold breath for a few seconds, breathe out–my eyes close and I felt the sun hit my face like a welcoming benediction. I muscle past the pain of echoed despair and drift toward the nearby farmer’s market.
On the way, I pass the same corner house I always do–the one with the scraggly white fence and a host of plants trying to escape through the wide, chipped painted slats. An enormous maple tree dominates the front corner and I am further distracted from my gloomy funk by the chittering of a familiar friend.
High in a crook of the tree, the squirrel gives me a concerned look–the kind that just invites you to start talking to him.
“Look at you! So brave. So bold. Not bothered by me in the least.”**
The squirrel is all nonchalance, flicking his head up and back down to me as if he has pressing things to do and I’d better cut to the chase.
I’m admiring his calm when the dog in the house intrudes on our conversation:
“Bark bark, barkety bark bark… woofity, woof, woof.”***
No doubt the dog is letting me know I am in imminent danger of doggy justice…just as soon as he figures out how to use the doorknob. I think he also told off the squirrel, but I might just be imagining the eye roll the squirrel gave me.
“You are certainly braver than me.” I tell the squirrel. “I know he’s behind glass and I’m still scared of that dog!”
The squirrel gives me the bush-tailed equivalent of “What Evs” and scampers away.
I make my way to the farmer’s market which is closing up its stalls slowly enough I am able to grab an impulse cabbage and a bag of reasonably priced Honey Crisps. Just before I leave, I snatch up a tiny pumpkin for 75 cents.
Back at the office, I place my orange gourd du season on the desk and realize, I’m feeling better–not fixed 100%–but definitely better. I have to wonder that no one has figured out a way to use squirrels as therapy animals.
So, if you haven’t heard from me in a while, don’t worry. I’m working through some issues. And if anyone asks, I’ll be with the squirrels. Apparently, it’s all the rage:
Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:
*All beverages quaffed on this blog will be imaginary unless otherwise designated. They also will come with tiny umbrellas and fruity names like: “Divine Intoxication Infused with Chocolate Dreams.”
**No, I did not say “Squeak….squeak…chitter…squeak.” I do not speak squirrel. What kind of idiot do you take me for?
***Or words to that effect. I don’t speak dog either. But I can recognize “Fuck you and the horse you road in on!” in many languages.
_____________ You Read This Far Bonus_________________
You want to read more about squirrel potential? Great! Look no further than a nomination for president to be found at:
I highly approve the furry-tailed candidate’s promise to make therapy squirrels available to everyone! The no-parole until they graduate stance on children’s education might be a mite rigid. But, his nutty stand on gun control will at least make you smile.