The most interesting part of my life is my dog

Last week in Professional Responsibility, our professor informed us that, statistically, 30% of third-year law students are clinically depressed. This is not shocking news; law school is basically designed to destroy human happiness by confining you to a windowless building, surrounding you with peers who hope you will fail so that they might succeed, and then heaping an incomprehensible amount of work on your shoulders.

In the middle of my deepest, darkest law school moments, I have turned not to alcohol, weepy music, binge eating or prescription drugs. I have turned instead to Joey, my wonderful spotted dog, who absorbs tears and frustration with equivalent grace, whose happiness at simple things like The Way Things Smell or Running Through a Park in the Sunshine is contagious. We should establish now that no one has ever loved a dog the way I love my dog, and if they have, they have certainly never told me about it.

If Joey could vacuum his hair off the floor, he would be a flawless companion. As it is, he does all the things of which he is physically capable, including lying patiently at my feet while I study, never disturbing me when I need to sleep in, and accepting a flexible feeding schedule when my days run long. He does insist, however, that we go outside regardless of weather, my work load, or my bad mood, and that once we are outside we appreciate The Way Things Smell, acknowledge all oncoming human traffic with wagging tail and smile, respectively, and recall that the larger world is a happy place.

It is so easy to make a dog happy, and being in the presence of canine happiness is an irresistible force. A dog is a cheap vending machine for happiness. I understand the statistics: the 30% of depressed 3Ls are the 30% denying themselves this easy therapy.