Churchill had one, there is at least one clinic named after them, as well as several pubs, a tavern, a Led Zeppelin song, a children's website, a film starring Patrick Swayze - and, strangely Black Dog is slang for bad credit in Cork....
I first came across the term when my my friend Helen referred to her Black Dog day on a particularly gruelling pedal up a dirt track at around 4000m close to the Chinese border on the Karakorum Highway. She dropped the bike in the sand, sat down in the dirt and rolled a fag - sending us on without her...
Before my accident I had my own occasional Black Dogs - they came and went with the blasting northerly winds, whipped up by issues as serious as my opposition to the UK's invasion of Iraq and as ridiculous as my fury over the parasitic Boris not replacing the peanut butter. In those days, the good old days before the 19th of November, I got hold of the Black Dog, hauled him onto the beach (or equivalent) and took him for a savage walk in the sand, until he melted away - replaced by more mundane and positive thoughts - of past and yet to be had cycle adventures, of naughty food and fine wines, or just a bloody good read.
But now the Black Dog is different. He comes padding in at the strangest of times - hanging around the bathroom door, lying under the bed, gazing out the window. This Black Dog can't be dragged away with the usual method. His baleful eyes know that I'm not going out without help, that I can't get on a bike or go for a walk on the beach, that there are no planned adventures, that books are still difficult, that I can't pop out for a haircut, and can't even get into the bath.
This Black Dog also senses my pride, my stubbornness and frustration - that he is unlikely to be beaten off by medication - because the side effects of medication draws on his pals - smaller black dogs (black dogs are never puppies - only dogs - which raises a series of very difficult questions!) that hide under the pillow and keep you drowsy, or get in the way of your crutches forcing you to sway dangerously and trip, even pawing at your mouth so that your words are strangely slurred...
And this Black Dog is private - he knows that I need to appear cheerful and well - calm and enduring in my crisis, undemanding of others despite my almost total lack of mobility, grateful that I was lucky (ie, not killed) rather than unlucky to be run over at all.
But my Black Dog has a secret life (other clients?) - he isn't here all the time - laughter seems to banish him as does the presence of pals, he trots off when I focus on my knitting or get an unexpected card in the mail. He's afraid of the little cat that sometimes sleeps on my bed, and he definitely doesn't like the scent of chocolate. He doesn't come with me to physio appointments although he is less shy around my consultants. He doesn't like Scrabble although he does turn up when I'm losing.... He's not sure about shopping - cowering if its enjoyable but baring his teeth at any obvious rampant consumerism...
I guess my Black Dog will stay around a while yet - as long as I keep feeding him - trouble is - if I don't - I'm worried that I'll be done by the RSPCA for cruelty - and that would never do...
I first came across the term when my my friend Helen referred to her Black Dog day on a particularly gruelling pedal up a dirt track at around 4000m close to the Chinese border on the Karakorum Highway. She dropped the bike in the sand, sat down in the dirt and rolled a fag - sending us on without her...
Before my accident I had my own occasional Black Dogs - they came and went with the blasting northerly winds, whipped up by issues as serious as my opposition to the UK's invasion of Iraq and as ridiculous as my fury over the parasitic Boris not replacing the peanut butter. In those days, the good old days before the 19th of November, I got hold of the Black Dog, hauled him onto the beach (or equivalent) and took him for a savage walk in the sand, until he melted away - replaced by more mundane and positive thoughts - of past and yet to be had cycle adventures, of naughty food and fine wines, or just a bloody good read.
But now the Black Dog is different. He comes padding in at the strangest of times - hanging around the bathroom door, lying under the bed, gazing out the window. This Black Dog can't be dragged away with the usual method. His baleful eyes know that I'm not going out without help, that I can't get on a bike or go for a walk on the beach, that there are no planned adventures, that books are still difficult, that I can't pop out for a haircut, and can't even get into the bath.
This Black Dog also senses my pride, my stubbornness and frustration - that he is unlikely to be beaten off by medication - because the side effects of medication draws on his pals - smaller black dogs (black dogs are never puppies - only dogs - which raises a series of very difficult questions!) that hide under the pillow and keep you drowsy, or get in the way of your crutches forcing you to sway dangerously and trip, even pawing at your mouth so that your words are strangely slurred...
And this Black Dog is private - he knows that I need to appear cheerful and well - calm and enduring in my crisis, undemanding of others despite my almost total lack of mobility, grateful that I was lucky (ie, not killed) rather than unlucky to be run over at all.
But my Black Dog has a secret life (other clients?) - he isn't here all the time - laughter seems to banish him as does the presence of pals, he trots off when I focus on my knitting or get an unexpected card in the mail. He's afraid of the little cat that sometimes sleeps on my bed, and he definitely doesn't like the scent of chocolate. He doesn't come with me to physio appointments although he is less shy around my consultants. He doesn't like Scrabble although he does turn up when I'm losing.... He's not sure about shopping - cowering if its enjoyable but baring his teeth at any obvious rampant consumerism...
I guess my Black Dog will stay around a while yet - as long as I keep feeding him - trouble is - if I don't - I'm worried that I'll be done by the RSPCA for cruelty - and that would never do...
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