Four-Legged Love: How My Basset Hounds Help Ease my Depression
Discovering the Unseen Emotional Support of Pets in Mental Health Journeys
By Sumana Bhoothalingam
It has been said many times, many ways: pets can help alleviate depression. However, for a while the link felt tenuous for me personally; the truism frustratingly evasive in my own life. It only recently dawned on me that my relationship with my dogs has been a slow and steady SSRI over the months and years. With one crucial difference: while it has often felt like having dogs may have exacerbated my problems—most notably with pet care denuding my wallet more than insurance-backed serotonin—no antidepressant I have ever used has been able to make a significant difference to my quality of life. Rather it is my dogs who have done this, as gradually and consistently as the layers of fine hair they have managed to plaster over every surface in our home.
The strangest part is that I did not even really notice it, until recently, when it dawned on me that my overall attitude towards depression has changed. From viewing it as an absolute curse, a millstone around my neck, something I would not wish upon anyone, I have come to think of it more as a steady inner companion. It is a presence which often irks me, but has also ingrained in me the ability to enjoy tiny things more fully, to soak in the happy moments with unfiltered delight. Or, a presence which clears space for me to address what feels wrong and may need to change, by sinking me like a stone into my bed, despondent and depleted, but releasing me once I listen to its battle cry and resolve to take action.
As the years have gone by, my relationship with this exacting companion has morphed into something akin to background music, a soundtrack of favourite songs. It is always on—some songs loud and disruptive; others melodious and joyful; still others calm and soothing. It depends on what I choose to play, what I add to or delete from the list. In much the same way, my two fur babies, Scooby and Nelly, have taught me the lasting benefits of choosing to live in this very moment, where depression usually cannot intrude. Even if those mindful periods last only a short while, they leave me feeling better than any medicine could.
In much the same way, my two fur babies, Scooby and Nelly, have taught me the lasting benefits of choosing to live in this very moment, where depression usually cannot intrude.
Here are three examples (I love things in threes—perhaps a nod to the magical three favoured in Greek mythology, or perhaps just my eccentricity!):
1. The wonder of a dog walk: I have learned over time that walking a dog can lift the spirits like nothing else, but there is one non-negotiable requirement. Be fully present. No podcast, no catching up on phone calls, no losing myself in my music. Of course, the learning only happened because more often than not I realised I had forgotten my phone (once all the way down the street. at which point, all I could do was to watch my dog).
At first, it was a resigned “oh well” sort of sentiment, at best a blank stare or mindless gazing, but bit by bit I observed with growing fascination how much joy a simple walk could evoke. My dogs are both basset hounds, ruled by their acute sense of smell. A leaf here, a bunch of twigs there, the bottom of a fence here, a car tyre there, each scent was a source of excitement, some for a longer duration than others. Moving from fragrance to fragrance sometimes slowly, sometimes in playful trots, the dogs’ entire experience ended up having a meditative effect on me, and I found myself lulled into a peaceful state by the end of the walk.
Now, more often than not, I purposely leave my phone behind as I set off, and with it the various thoughts swirling around in my head. There would be plenty of time for those later, I told myself, but for the time being I wanted to immerse myself in the magic of dogs walking in nature, their bodies thrumming with energy, living solely in the moment.
2. The wonder of our bodies: My dogs are oblivious to any bodily shortcomings, never seeming to second guess their strength and resilience. If you’ve ever seen a basset hound, you will probably be smiling right about now at the image in your head. They are cartoon-character cute, with apparently illogical bodies. And yet Nelly and Scooby walk, stalk, pad or trot around thumping their huge, short padded paws as if they rule the planet. Even more amazingly, they contort their frames into the most implausible and death-defying positions, often preferring to sleep this way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And not just a nap, but deep, dream-filled, restorative sleep.
This, then, is the essence of my second argument: my dogs are entirely comfortable, at peace and one with their bodies. Every time I observe them, navigating our home, garden, a street, or a park, I feel admiration, respect and even a stab of jealousy at the ease with which they move through spaces and make them their own, no matter who else is around. They enjoy and make the most of what their bodies can do, ignoring what they cannot.
3. The wonder of a mixed blessing: It is certainly not easy to raise a dog, and ridiculously hard to add a second to a household which already boasts two growing boys. Simply put—having dogs is no walk in the park. Since I have known only basset hounds, let me speak specifically from my own experience—they can be needy, greedy, and skilfully sneaky about grabbing and running off into the garden with food items, socks, shoes, hats, and, unforgettably, underwear from the clothesline. They like to walk on their own terms—it is basically the dog walking the owner. They tend to be stubborn, oblivious to training tricks, and have—most inconveniently—highly sensitive stomachs and tricky gut health.
All this said, they have taught all of us in the family—adult and child alike— the true meaning of resilience. Whilst mopping up for the umpteenth time all the mess brought in by their long ears and huge paws, or dealing with yet another stomach upset, we have often felt heavy and even filled with regret at bringing these creatures into our home. It would have been so much easier to navigate schedules, holidays, our entire lives without having to constantly think about our dogs, keeping their welfare in mind alongside our own. However, in the same breath, we remember the full-bodied joy of unconditional loving licks, limitless cuddles when the weather is cold, or the mood is grim, and the way our loyal best friends look to us for protection and trust us with their very lives—every detail of it. Our kids have imbibed these values as if through osmosis, growing up with dogs from a very young age. Witnessing them putting another living being’s comfort and well-being before their own, time and again, never ceases to be at once humbling and uplifting.
In the same way, tending to our pets has helped me ‘get out of my head’ countless times. And each time, when I go back and revisit the problem, it somehow feels less onerous. Yes, it is a simple case of stepping away from a problem to get a fresh perspective. Yes, you do not need to own a pet to make that happen. Yes, you can do it on your own, at any time. Speaking only for myself, I need a teacher. I am that person who loves following an instructor in a gym class, rather than working out alone. By that same logic, I follow my dogs’ example. It is through them, my canine companions, that I am learning to have faith in the vast potential of the present moment, and in so doing to help that steady inner companion—depression—finally lighten her load.
The author is a former broadcast journalist who is not (shock, horror!) on social media, but welcomes your comments. You can email team@healthcollective[dot]in or tweet @healthcollectif to share your thoughts and we’ll pass them on.
