Yall, I'm just being honest.
And crazy enough, this wasn't a one-time thing either. In fact, after the first few rescues, I just stopped counting altogether.
I've had Ernie for almost three years. A lot has happened in these three years. A lot of grief and loss and growing pains. A lot of wonderful stuff, too. Don't get me wrong.
But there have been days where the only reason I got out of bed was Ernie, and plenty of nights where the only reason I could finally relax enough to fall asleep was Ernie.
He's been my safety. He's been my fearless (okay-not that fearless) protector. And despite his physical size, his loyalty has always been nothing short of enormous.
To some people, Ernie is just another dog. I get that not all people are animal people. And I'll really try not to judge you immensely for the fact that you have no soul and are devoid of normal emotions.
Sorry. Us, dog people, tend to be slightly defensive.
I have always been obsessed with animals, but before Ernie, I never realized the extent of a dog's ability to heal your soul. Literally. Dogs are the best medicine. In fact, I had to get a "prescription" for him from my nurse practitioner so I could have him in my apartment.
It's cheesy and sappy but totally true-Ernie is hands down the best prescription I've ever gotten.
Ever. Better than Vyvanse. Hands down. And he's the only medicine I've ever taken where the side effects were pretty awesome.
I got Ernie in the winter, in southeast Idaho. Winters there are basically like living in Antarctica, only worse. I bet you they at least plow the roads in Antarctica, but in Idaho, "real men don't plow roads," so that makes life fun. Your nose hairs freeze as soon as you walk out the door and if you're anything like me, you just want to eat and watch reality tv all day, every day. And by eat, I'm not referring to salads in any form.
But what about all those fun winter sports? Skiing? Sure, once or twice a year. Sledding? Not since I was 15. Going outside for any reason besides picking up hot chocolate or dragging myself to work? No, thanks.
Once the magic of Christmas is over, I hate winters in Idaho. They're dark. They're cold. They're gloomy. They're long. (We sometimes get snow in May.) They're not my thing.
Enter, dachshund mix puppy.
That freaking baby dog got me up every morning that winter. And he made getting up happy. He made those painfully dark mornings bright and exciting and sweet. And mind you, I lived on the third floor in my apartment complex, so potty training was inconvenient to say the least. But I honestly never minded. Because I had a new and worthy purpose to get my booty out of bed each day, and he was counting on me to do it so I couldn't let him down. We went on walks first thing each morning, and I even started looking forward to becoming a morning person. If you know me, then you know that is more impressive than any Biblical miracle.
Ernie helped me lose weight. He helped me get on a schedule. I couldn't wait to see him after work and school every day. He was always excited to reunite. Whether I'd been gone for eight hours or five minutes, his enthusiasm to see me walk through the door was the acceptance and love I was desperately in need of. And he gave it freely, with no conditions.
Ernie helped me immensely with anxiety and depression. He vanquished heavy loneliness. (It's pretty hard to be lonely when there is an overgrown weenie dog constantly on your lap.) He motivated me to keep moving, and to even find enjoyment in the process.
During all this, I was working with kids with special needs. I got to take Ernie to work with me several times. He was extra cautious and tender with each sweet soul he met. He didn't mind the occasional ear-pulling and definitely didn't object to the sharing of snacks. And he always left every kid noticeably happier.
When I got divorced and moved in with my parents, Ernie kept my bed from feeling too empty. When Ernie and I moved to Salt Lake City, he gave me the courage to get my own apartment downtown. He was the best roommate a girl could ask for, and I honestly couldn't have done any of that without his faithful support.
Ernie has helped me cope with my toughest losses, yet. He's alleviated my scariest fears, and helped me conquer my own self-doubts.
It sounds way too good to be true, right?! 26 Year Old Woman With Anxiety And Depression Rescued By 3-Year Old Wiener Dog On a Daily Basis. You can't make this stuff up, people.
And I know, I know, he isn't "perfect." He barks really loud and he is even capable of murdering chickens. But hey-we all have our sins.
All I'm trying to say, is that Ernie Short is not just a dog. He's not just a pet. He's not just a cute pup with extra long ears and a visible conscience.
He's my family. He's my sweet boy. He's my rescuer, fur child, and best friend. He's the reason I'm waking up tomorrow, way earlier than I want to. And that is a miracle in and of itself.
If you ever struggle with feelings of hopelessness, depression, anxiety, a lousy marriage, trauma, isolation, or incomprehensible loneliness-for the love of all that is holy, do yourself a favor: Get yourself a four-legged critter. (Weiner dogs are the best, but to each their own.) And once you get the most powerful medicine you'll ever have, embrace the side effects. They may include weight loss, talking in "baby talk", gradually losing all your favorite pairs of shoes, preferring animals to humans, the presence of dog hair everywhere, and possible euphoria.
You're welcome.
