Many years ago my best friend told me that her uncle’s dog was taking Prozac. I thought surely she was joking, but, no, in fact, she was not. This doggie on antidepressants has perplexed me for well over a decade. And I still have moments when I’m out hiking appreciating the gentle breezes and the beautiful green glow of backlit trees, when I am haunted by the memory of Prozac Dog.
Dogs are meant to live in the wild with natural cycles, following their instincts, running free, nuzzling their peers, basking in sunlight, sniffing for dinner and a safe resting place, howling at the moon.
They were not meant to mope around in stuffy apartments 24/7 with fluorescent lights, eating crunchy manufactured bits from a plastic bag, briefly escaping twice a day to a fenced-in pavement enclosure. That ain’t gonna do it. In that environment, there’s no space for them to feel well, to thrive, to BE themselves.
Living a domesticated life, in an unnatural environment, without the kind of exercise, food, community and stimulation you need is bound to be depressing. If it wasn’t, something would be seriously wrong.
We live in a Prozac Dog culture too, removed from our wild nature. May we remember we have our place here amongst all of Nature’s creatures.
Let the spirit of Prozac Dog help you find and remember your wild nature.
Show your fangs.
Roll in the grass.
Hump a leg.
Run on the beach.
Eat raw meat.
Wag that tail.
Ask yourself: What can I give myself, right now, that will bring me more into my wild aliveness? Share in the comments what brings you more alive. Hoooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwlllllllll!
Aloha,
Suzanne




