The Mindful Migraine

This post is about ‘pets for migraines’ – as opposed to ‘pets with migraines’ – which is really too terrible to think about… Although if you do think about it, it makes you wonder what specifically it is about the human brain that sets us apart from animals.  Perhaps one day I will research if animals get headaches.  For now, I’m thinking back to Dr Leroux raising ‘pet therapy’ in the Migraine World Summit presentation as a means of relieving migraine pain.

Whilst I haven’t participated in any formal pet therapy, my two dogs are definitely therapeutic.

I was a cat-person growing up, (and I think I probably still am), but my husband was a dog-person in his youth and eventually I agreed to add a dog to the family.  The breed is what we in Australia call a ‘cavoodle’ (but in the United States is called a ‘cavapoo’ (which is a bit of unfortunate being so phonically close to ‘have-a-poo’)).  To protect his privacy, let’s call the first dog ‘Mister’.  He’s apricot-colored and nearly 12 years old.  Then there’s a midnight black cavoodle who goes by the alias ‘Lady’ who’s nearly 10 (here’s her with her teddy on Instagram (I was experimenting with reels but lost interest)).  We got Lady because I was feeling clucky and decided it would be easier to get a puppy than have a third child.  (Which was mostly true).

Even though they’re half-siblings, the two dogs are the chalk and cheese of dog personalities.  If he sleeps on the outdoor couch, she will sleep under it.  If he runs up to meet other dogs on the beach, she curls into a ball.  His tail is curly but his hair is wiry and straight, whilst her tail is straight but her hair is soft and curly.  He’s as clever as anything, while she’s… not so clever… but very cute. 

What I’ve noticed is that Mister knows when I have a migraine.  Instead of pulling on the lead, all sniff-happy and keen to get ahead, he falls back and stays close to my knee.  When we get home, he hovers nearby and never tries to jump up for a chin-tickle like he would on a normal day.  As far as I can tell, I don’t change any of my word prompts or hand gestures to indicate to him that I’m unwell, he just seems to understand from either my pace or posture that something has happened.  In return, he’s patient and there for me. 

Lady is more of a cat in her personality, she can take my attention or leave it, sick or well, meh, she doesn’t care as long as I feed her.  That said, her wonderfully woolly fur is a pleasure to pat.

Patting them apparently releases endorphins (happy hormones).  I can feel my blood pressure drop, my breathing slow, my face relax.  I can feel myself calm down, and I definitely feel less lonely. 

My heat-pack and my fluffy dog are two of my favorite things when I’m sick, and sometimes they’re one and the same.

Perhaps the greatest gift that pets give us is their unconditional love.  It’s hard to feel low when you know there’s a little soul that loves you and needs you.  (Not that I’m trying to discount family members, it’s just that… well… you know… cat memes and puppy photos and all.)

Here’s two websites that discuss the benefits of pet therapy, and a third site with some feel good pictures of Australian pups and their handler-carers on the way out for a chat-and-pat with people who are not lucky enough to have a pet of their own nearby:

Animal-Assisted Therapy for Depression (healthline.com)

Animal therapy: How it works, benefits, and more (medicalnewstoday.com)

PAWS Pet Therapy | Gallery

Let me know if you have a pet that knows when you’re sick, and if you have any clue how they know.

Take care, Linda.

PS – feel free to do a shout out, in the comment section below, to your beloved pet so the whole world can see how special they are.

I’ll start it off: