Winter in Beijing is always particularly harsh. That year, my world seemed to have entered the permafrost before the cold current outside the window. The pressure of work, the alienation of people, and the depression and nothingness that are unclear but follow me like a thick layer of ice that wraps me tightly. I began to resist going out, refused to communicate, pulled the curtains tight during the day, and stared at the ceiling at night and couldn't fall asleep. The doctor said it was depression. I know that those are all the colors of my life, gradually fading into pale.
1. The "uninvited guest" who broke into the frozen world
The decision to keep a dog is not so much a proactive choice as a desperate attempt to save oneself. A friend said, keep a pet and have a living thing to accompany you. It's better than being alone in your imagination. I wandered through the introductions of various dog breeds, and finally, somehow, I chose a husky. Everyone advised me: "Erha? Are you sure? That's the director of the demolition office. He's so energetic that he can demolish homes!" I just looked at the ice-blue eyes with a hint of wildness and ignorance in the photo, and somehow felt that perhaps there was a kind of loneliness that was not understood in its world.
The day it came, it was a gloomy afternoon. A three-month-old puppy, packed in a cardboard box, poked its head out timidly. It didn't rush forward excitedly like other puppies. It just looked at me quietly with its blue eyes, and then gently licked my extended finger. A faint warmth came from the wet tip of the nose. I named it "Heater", a name that seemed ironic to me at the time but full of humble hope.
2. From the "devil of home demolition" to the silent companion
The original "stove" really showed the "style" of the husky. Slippers, sofa corners, data cables... all were spared. My apartment is often in ruins. When I am tirelessly cleaning up the mess, I will roar at it, but it will tilt its head, tilt its ears back, and its eyes will be filled with innocence and confusion of "I was wrong, but I will dare next time." My emotions often break down, and sometimes I sit on the ground holding my knees and cry silently. And every time this time, the little demon who was just making trouble in heaven would suddenly calm down. It would come slowly and no longer make a fuss, just press its fluffy, warm body tightly against my legs, or put its head directly on my knees, and look at me with its blue eyes without blinking. There was a slight sob in its throat.
It cannot speak, but its body temperature is real. In those nights when tears were blurred, it leaned against me with the weight of its entire body, like a breathing and heart-beating blanket. Its breath is uniform and warm, penetrating through my thin pajamas and penetrating into my cold skin little by little. That kind of warmth is different from air conditioning or heating. It is a warm current of life that stubbornly and continuously opposes the severe cold in my heart.
3. Forced to walk into the daily life of sunshine
Raising dogs, especially huskies that require a lot of exercise, means that you can no longer completely close yourself off. No matter how much I don't want to get up or how afraid I am of the crowd outside the door, the "stove" will nudge me with its wet nose and rub me with its claws in the early morning, making an eager groan. It needs to go to the toilet, it needs to run, and it needs to smell the world. For it, I had to leave the house.
In the winter morning, the sky is gray and blue, and the breath turns into frost. Wrapped in a thick down jacket, I was pulled by the "stove" and walked into the cold park. It trotted excitedly in front, and the traction rope sent waves of forward force, as if it was dragging my stagnant life. I was forced to breathe the cold but unusually fresh air, watching it chase a fallen leaf, seriously "mark" a tree trunk, roll in the snow, get the hair on its nose and chest wet but look happy. Its happiness is so simple, direct and infectious. Slowly, I began to notice the shimmering light on the frost-covered grass tips, heard sparrows chirping on the bare branches, and saw the stretching smile on the face of the old man exercising in the morning. The world no longer seems to be just a gray background that has nothing to do with me.
Because of the "stove", I had to establish a new rhythm of life. Feeding, walking, grooming, playing with me... these trivial responsibilities are like small anchors that temporarily fix me from the stormy emotions. My attention had to shift from the endless ruminating pessimistic thoughts to such tangible matters as whether it had eaten well today, whether its poop was normal, and whether its claws had been frostbitten by ice and snow. This feeling of "being needed" subtly dilutes the self-denial that "I am worthless".
4. Silent dialogue and soul breaking ice
Huskies are known for their rich expressions and "stupid and cute" behavior, and "stove" is no exception. It would howl at the animal world on TV, it would get stuck under the coffee table and be stuck in a dilemma, it would steal my socks and run around the house proudly. These moments that make people laugh and cry are like small stones, throwing themselves into the stagnant lake of my heart, arousing some ripples. I found myself smiling for a long time, although it might be just a faint movement on the corner of my mouth.
More often, we get along quietly. I sat on the carpet reading (or just in a daze), and it rested its chin on my instep to sleep, its belly up and down. While I was writing, it leaned down next to the computer desk and occasionally sighed, as if lamenting the boredom of the "two-legged beast" at work. There is no complex language between us, only touch, eyes and coexistence. In this silent companionship, something like ice began to crack from within. Its existence itself is a silent declaration: you are not alone. Even if the whole world turns its back, at least there is one life whose whole world is you, it needs you, it waits for you to go home, and it welcomes you with all its enthusiasm, even if you just go downstairs and throw garbage.
Once, my emotions fluctuated violently again, and I curled up in the corner of the sofa and trembled. The "stove" did not come closer as usual. It ran away. Just as I felt doubly disappointed, it ran back again, struggled to hold its favorite rubber-bone toy in its mouth, gently placed it at my hand, and then pushed it forward with its nose, looking at me with its eyes shining brightly. At that moment, my tears burst out. It's not that it doesn't understand, it's comforting me in the best way it knows-sharing its most precious "treasure." This breed, which many people consider to be "heartless", is using its unique and clumsy way to carry out the most sincere spiritual rescue.
5. Mutual healing: It taught me to live in the present
The most important lesson that "stove" taught me is "live in the present". Dogs do not have the complex emotions of humans grieving about the past and anxiety about the future. They eat when they are hungry, sleep when they are sleepy, wag their tails when they are happy, and bring toys when they want to play. Its needs are direct and clear, and its joys are pure and immediate. Watching it rolling around in the snow, covered in snow but shining with excitement, I vaguely felt that those huge and nothingness troubles that troubled me seemed to temporarily lose weight in the face of the most authentic joy of life.
The process of taking care of it also subtly changed my attitude towards myself. I will patiently help it dry its wet feet, carefully comb its thick double coat, and study how to give it more balanced nutrition. This meticulous care of another life made me begin to reflect: Can I have more patience and care for myself as I treat it?
That winter was particularly long, but because of the "stove", the days had a scale. From the first time it learned to "sit down" to the first time it bravely jumped down a small step; from the time it shed its fetal hair and grew a thicker coat, to the time its body gradually became stronger... its growth was like a A warm documentary played slowly, and I was the only audience and participant. My life has quietly changed as it grows. I began to be able to sleep all night long, my appetite slowly returned, and I no longer felt such a strong panic when I went out. Although the cloud of depression has not completely dissipated, the sun has been able to penetrate through the gaps and shed some spots of light.
6. It is not a pet, it is a family that saves my life
Now, several years have passed. The "stove" has long grown from a timid little furry ball into a majestic adult husky with clear eyes (occasionally mentally retarded). It will still make mistakes and still have excessive energy. It is my sweet burden. But in my mind, it has long exceeded the definition of "pet".
It is the "stove" I accidentally acquired during the coldest and darkest winter. Its body temperature not only covered my cold quilt and hands and feet that winter, but also my heart that was already desperate and on the verge of freezing at that time. It uses the most primitive way-companionship, dependence, unconditional love (and occasional demolition of homes)-to complete a silent psychological intervention.
Scientific research has shown that interacting with pets can effectively reduce levels of the stress hormone cortisol, increase the secretion of oxytocin and dopamine, thereby alleviating anxiety and depressive symptoms. For me, the "stove" is a walking, fluffy "medicine". It does not require me to explain why I am sad, does not judge my vulnerability, but uses its entire existence to tell me: you are worthy of being accompanied, you are worthy of being needed, and there are still reasons why the world is worth getting up-for example, my breakfast and today's walk.
That winter, the wind and snow were heavy, and my heart was empty for a long time. Thank you to this "Erha" for breaking in with its fiery vitality and silly sincerity, melting ice and snow, and bringing vitality. If you are also experiencing the cold winter of your life, maybe you can try to let a small animal into your life. It may not be able to speak, but the warmth it gives is enough to withstand the severe cold of the entire world. Because the true healing is often hidden in the simplest interactions of life, in the wet nose kiss every morning, and in the solidity and warmth of snuggle next to you after sunset.
(This article is based on real experience and emotional creation and aims to share the positive impact of pet companionship on mental health. Depression is a disease. If necessary, be sure to seek help from a professional doctor. Pet companionship can be a useful aid and support.)