Article
When I first got Wally in 2015, it was for companionship. I'd been living with chronic fatigue since my teens, but my rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis came later. Life was very different then. I worked in the city with a 45-minute commute each way, and I'd take Wally on daily walks, sometimes up to 5 km. These days, I struggle to walk up the street, and so does he in his wheels with his own disability. We're homebodies now. We might not socialise every weekend, but we still get out when we can, and it really doesn't matter as long as we're together.
Now with my rheumatoid arthritis in full swing and my health unpredictable, Wally's companionship means more to me than ever. We spend a lot of time at home. Having Wally here helps my mental and physical health. When I get up to feed him, I remember to feed myself. When I help him go to the toilet, I'm reminded I should too. Plus, his constant companionship makes me happy. All this creates a co-dependent relationship that benefits us both, though I truly believe I get the most out of it.
And on the days when I can't push through, Wally being by my side is my saving grace. I'm grateful he's happy to lie beside me, binge-watching whatever's on, never begging to go out for those 5 km walks we used to take. Plus, walking Wally is more complicated these days, but just having him here gives me so much joy. Whether it's his smile when we do go for walks or the way he snoozes in the strangest shapes on the couch, it all reminds me how much we love each other.
We're very much each other's carers. I help Wally get around when he needs it, and he helps me remember that I don't always need to push through the pain or the fatigue or the brain fog. It's perfectly okay to sleep the day away. I wouldn't have managed the ups and downs of chronic illness or the unpredictability of working for myself without him. As much as I love the flexibility of freelance life and how it helps me care for Wally, the financial uncertainty adds stress my body doesn't need. Still, with Wally beside me, I find purpose. On the days I feel like giving up, he reminds me to keep going.
I need to help him get around.
I need to help him get fed, which reminds me to feed myself.
I need to help him on and off the couch, which reminds me to move and do small things to look after myself.
I have to help him socialise and see his friends, which reminds me to catch up with mine.
Still, on the flip side, he reminds me to look after myself, relax, and listen to my body. I'll be sitting on the couch late at night, pushing through to finish work, and he'll nudge my hand for pats. It's his way of saying, Mum, it's time to stop now. And he's always right.
Wally may be a disabled dog with extra needs, but really, all he needs is me by his side. That's the gift pets give people with chronic illness, especially those of us who live alone or don't have a support system. They're always there, without questions or expectations. You might think they're just another responsibility, but the truth is they give far more than they take.
If I didn't have Wally, my mental health would be in a very dark place. When my body stops me from doing the things I want, he reminds me that sometimes doing nothing and simply resting together is perfectly okay.