The Wet Nose and the Word “Must”

There was a time when, quite suddenly, there was nothing left to live for. No reason to wake up. No reason to move. All I wanted was to crawl into some dark corner and howl like a wolf.

But my whole life has been built on one small, stubborn word: must. You must get up. You must go to work. You must keep going, because people are counting on you. For years I resented that word. In those months, it was the thin thread I was holding on to.

And there was Tobby.

A dog depends on you completely. He doesn't understand bad days or heavy hearts. He only knows that the morning has come, that he is hungry, and that you are the one he's waiting for. Letting down the ones who love me has never been something I could do. Not my family, and not him.

What I remember most is how he looked at me. With so much devotion, so much love, at a time when I couldn't understand how I could possibly matter to anyone. I didn't feel like someone worth loving. He didn't seem to care. He loved me anyway, patiently, without asking for anything in return, except that I get up.

All the light in the world had gone out. And in that darkness, the only things I could see were a wet nose and a pair of faithful eyes.

So I got up. Not because I wanted to. Because he was waiting. And one morning became another, and then another.

I'm not writing this because I've found all the answers. I haven't. But if you're somewhere in the dark right now, I want you to know this: sometimes the reason to get up doesn't have to be a big one. Sometimes it's a small warm creature by the bed, looking at you as if you are the whole world.

And maybe, for someone, you are.

What small thing helps you get up on your hardest mornings? And if you haven't found it yet, you can tell me that too.

With love, and a wet nose from Tobby

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