The New Routine

When I got laid off, I thought the worst part would be telling my family.
Turns out, it was telling my dog, Henry.

Okay — obviously, Henry didn’t understand the economics of it all. But he did understand that something was off. That I wasn’t putting on my work shoes. That I was drinking coffee slower. That I sighed a lot more before noon.

And instead of moping in solidarity like a good boy, Henry decided this was the beginning of our new life.

Day One, 8:07 AM: he dropped his leash in my lap.

He’d never done that before. Not on a weekday.
It was like he’d memorized my work schedule and decided we were done with it.

So I gave in. We walked.

That became our thing.
Every morning — no matter what I had (or didn’t have) going on — we went out.

He took me on new routes. Through parks we’d never explored. Around lakes with slippery edges and benches just wide enough for the two of us. He’d sniff bushes like they were ancient relics, wagging with the kind of joy that made strangers smile.

At home, I swapped out his old leash for a hands-free dog leash — something I bought on a whim but grew to love. It clipped around my waist so I could sip coffee and carry a notebook, letting Henry guide our steps while I thought, planned, and eventually… dreamed again.

Three weeks in, I got a freelance offer.
Five weeks in, I had three clients.

But the routine? That stayed.

Even now, when I’m “back to work,” Henry still gets his walk at 8:07. On the dot.
And I still let him lead.

Because it wasn’t the career shift or the freedom that changed me.

It was the dog who reminded me how to show up for life.
One leash loop at a time.