In the last few weeks, most of us have been practicing social distancing. We’ve been cutting down on unnecessary excursions and have stayed out of bars and theaters.

I’ve been forwarding interesting or simply funny tidbits that have been forwarded to me and have been keeping my kitchen counter cleaner than usual.

Following local shelter in place guidelines, I’ve also been keen on taking advantage of creative ways to stay connected. Last Thursday, I facetimed my niece over chicken dinners at our respective domiciles.

I have gratefully attended concerts that musicians have livestreamed from their living rooms. Sometimes, the programs were folksy and intimate. Some were unexpectedly inspirational.

A friend’s son, who is a classically trained violinist based in Boston, played with two cellists he met at the New England Conservatory, all roommates, from their apartment’s very unadorned common room. Their program ended with a wonderful version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.

Every night, I give extra thanks for the companionship of my dog, India.

Some friends and I have discussed the importance of having a pet at this time. Yes, it’s been wonderful to follow the regularity in schedule that they require. Especially amid the chaos of the world and news that is questionable in its reliability, it is nice to take a walk and fill up her bowl at roughly the same time each day.

She’s totally herself — all the time — which puts me at ease. But it’s more than that.

India, a spaniel – poodle mix, is sweet and stubborn. She loves to take walks. She loves to be out in the world and tries to exert her will when I try to lead her home and she wants to stay out longer.

She will sit down and resist a simple tug on her leash. Sometimes, I give in to her. “Oh, do you want to go that way,” I’ll pose as I take a few steps in the opposite direction of my mail box.

Sometimes, I let her dictate where we go on our walks. Sometimes, I tug on her pink leash and harness until she gets it. I’m not about to back down.

A friend asked me recently whether I think she has any idea that the world has changed.

“Well, in a way,” I’ll explain. “I mean, she still plays go fetch when I throw her plastic orange ball down my corridor. When we’ll take a walk, she still tries to find napkins from fast food chains and eat them before I can pull them away. But I think she understands that people are keeping their distance from each other…

…She’s used to strangers coming up to her to pet her or fondle her ears. While we still see dogs and their owners out on walks, she is aware that people are more reserved, less interested in engaging. She’ll see a person and wait for him to come up to her and give her some attention and affection.

…When they politely smile and walk past us, she looks at me puzzled and disappointed, as if saying:

What? Why are you walking away? Don’t you want to pet me? Aren’t I still cute?”

If India misses the random caresses of neighbors during this strange time, I think people miss TOUCH much more.

A friend, in a facetime conversation, confessed she missed nuzzling time and the kisses she’d receive from India when she’d come over for a movie and dinner.

In a TV interview with a healthcare worker in New York, I heard a young doctor, who had dealt with her share of unhappy outcomes, remark that one the hardest things she’s had to deal with was seeing that people with the virus had to die alone.

Seeing that family members did not have the chance to say good-bye, that a parent or grandparent or child near death could not feel a loved one squeeze their hand to show them that they weren’t alone, was especially heartbreaking.

This past week on TV, I’ve seen Kevin Bacon, as a morning show guest, show off his ukulele and other instruments he’s been giving more than usual attention to. I’ve seen heralded journalists trying to look uber professional while speaking to cameras with their den’s wallpaper in the background. (Under these circumstances, even a Pulitzer Prize winner looks like everyone else.)

I’ve talked to friends who have kept themselves mentally occupied but are craving physical contact. Touch.

I want to tell anyone who is at home with their family or loved ones not to miss an opportunity to hug them. I want to tell my friends that live alone that I’d embrace them if I could. I promise they can have unlimited opportunities to run their fingers through India’s black and white curls as soon as possible.

And I want to thank God that after our walk tonight I will be going to bed with my furry companion. She snores louder than me (at least, I think so) and is long overdue for a haircut. But her physical presence reminds me that I’m strong, and I am loved.

Snuggling with your spaniel is no small thing.