Having Faith

Five letters. Monosyllabic. Still, FAITH is a big word.

It is a noun and means “complete trust or confidence in someone or something.”

The smallest of her litter, my Bernese Mountain Dog was named “Faith.” Her family trusted. They had confidence would make it.

Faith brought faith into the Hooker Horde.

I have faith in Faith. She taught her little bro-fur, Gus, to be a dog, after he spent three years in a puppy mill. Faith understood that our neighbor with Alzheimer’s disease needed to hug her. Faith knows that the ten-year-old across the street needs to share her secrets with her.

Winston Churchill referred to depression as “the black dog.” This summer, the black dog of depression followed me taking my appetite, enthusiasm, and energy.

Faith started to walk less. Instead of our typical mile or two each morning, she stopped after a half mile and sat in the shade. I worried about her. I wondered if her back hurt. I wondered if the spondolosis was getting worse. I even had the surgeon remove 2.5 centimeters from her elongated soft palate.

But, still, she stopped. She sat in the shade. So, we walked home.

My weight dropped to 99 pounds.

Last week, she leaned against me, looked into my eyes and I knew that the reason she stopped. She told me, “You don’t have the energy to go any farther.”

With my Faith, I’m healing. I’m eating. My energy is returning.

Now, with Faith, we walk a little farther each day.