Okay I know what many of you are thinking: Is she seriously writing
about her dog? Well... yes. Yes I am.
The thing is, I have been warned constantly throughout my
pregnancy that I need to be prepared for Ernie to be replaced, in every sense,
by the new baby. They say that he will
become “just a pet”, or even a nuisance, according to some. And that most
likely, the space in my mind and heart that has been completely, effortlessly dedicated
to him will soon belong exclusively to her. I’m not sure that I believe these things, but
since I have not yet experienced little C’s arrival, I have no choice but to
consider and respect this advice. Therefore, I have decided to record the
incredible gift that Ernie has been in my life, so that whatever unpredictable
shift that may occur in the upcoming weeks, I can refer back here and remember
the crazy, ridiculous, inexplicable, furry love that changed me in so many
ways.
Obviously, I love my dog. But really, that does not
accurately describe our relationship. He is so much more to me than a pet, it’s
actually pretty ridiculous. I have had other dogs in my life, and I loved them
too; they were fantastic animals. And arguably better “pets”, in the
traditional sense, than Ernie has been. But Ernie is truly my friend. My child.
My guardian, my heart.
I try to explain it
to people, usually beginning with something like “It’s like he understands what
I’m saying.” Or, “He knows what I’m thinking.” And they generally smile
politely, and nod, as I probably would if someone said these things to me. But
there are a couple of people that can actually attest to these unbelievable and
hilarious characteristics of our relationship, mostly because they have lived
with us. One is my brother Bubba, and the other, of course, is Christopher.
Chris is my biggest proof because he is a true “convert”. Upon meeting Ernie,
he was admittedly afraid, mostly of his intimidating size/coat/breed. He was
polite to Ernie, but mostly inconvenienced by his neediness. Ernie wasn’t allowed in his car, or at his house…
not that I asked, but I understood how others saw Ernie, and didn’t push the
issue. Needless to say, Ernie spent quite a bit of time with Uncle Bubba those
first couple of months. But over time, I
would invite Chris to meet Ernie and I places, the park, the river, pretty much
anywhere he was allowed, and almost as quickly as Ernie fell in love with
Chris, Chris realized he wasn’t your ordinary mutt. Ernie is not only allowed
in Chris’s truck now, the backseat has been specifically customized for Ernie’s
optimal riding comfort. We cannot pass a promotional supermarket display of “babies”
(Any stuffed animal, intended for pets or not) without Chris picking one out
for Ern. It absolutely melts my heart to admit that they have become so close,
that I sometimes have to fight for their attention- and my spot in bed. Ernie
is no longer “my” dog, he is “our” dog… sometimes even “Chris’ dog.” And as far
as his ability to understand us, and know what we are thinking- ask Chris. He’ll
tell you. It’s insane.
We’ve come so far, Ernie and I, that I sometimes forget the
incredibly strange circumstances under which Ernie came into my life. I had
been wanting a dog badly for a very long time, but knew that I couldn’t have
one anytime soon. I was a senior in college, with another year ahead of me, and
working at Bally as a graphics intern in my free time. I was living in a teeny,
tiny house with no time, or space, for a pup. But still, I would peruse the pet
classifieds in the newspaper and even sometimes visit pet stores and/or new
litters for sale, with no intention to adopt, just to get my furry fix. Somehow,
through my online browsing, I was placed on an email list for a rescue shelter
in Sparks, NV that sent out weekly adoption updates. The first email I ever received
was a picture of two 7-week-old pups; one fawn, one brindle. They were siblings, a girl
and a boy. The email indicated they were Mastiff crosses, and the female was
beautiful with her traditional Mastiff coloring. I had to see her. I enlisted a
friend to come with me, with the strict instructions NOT to let me adopt a dog.
We were told to meet the foster parents of the pup at a discount pet supply
warehouse in Sparks; we were unsettled by these strange, illegal-drug-deal-transaction-like
circumstances, but we went anyway. After about 15 minutes of awkwardly waiting inside the
dimly-lit warehouse, the foster family showed up carrying an extra-large
kennel. Odd, I thought, for one 7-week-old, 8 lb. pup. But when she opened the
gate, out charged an energetic, brindle ball of wrinkles with perhaps the
largest paws I had ever seen on a dog, their size emphasized by his hilarious inability
NOT to trip over them. He ran up to us as if he recognized us, wagging his tiny
tail so hard that it threw his little buns from side to side. I was so enamored
with this little creature, his personality so huge and amusing that it was
almost thirty minutes before I realized that this was not the dog I had come here
to see. I quickly got up to meet her and found that the kennel, and the foster
family, were gone. I turned to ask the store clerk where they had gone, when the door
chimes sounded and the woman who had been carrying the kennel re-entered,
carrying only a piece of paper. She informed me that the paper was the
information sheet I had filled out in order to see the pups, and I just needed
to sign it. I wasn’t clear on the purpose of this contract, but obliged. She
handed me a card with her name and number on it and then bent down to pet the
stripy animal sitting on my shoes. And then she was gone.
Apparently, I had just adopted a dog. I had nothing for a
dog. For the first time I realized that it was perhaps a positive thing that I
was already at a discount pet supply warehouse; and wondered briefly if this
was possibly the reason that this was her meet-and-greet location of choice. I
bought everything, dog bowls, collar, leash, dog bed, dog toys, bones. I left feeling
prepared, but quickly realized that there was NOTHING, not anything that I
could have bought or left with that evening that could have ever prepared me
for what was to come.
As much as I love Ernie, we all know that he hasn’t been the
easiest dog. All the time in the world would not be enough to explain the
issues he has had. For a healthy animal, he has had more injuries, afflictions,
disorders and general hardships than any dog, or pet for that matter, that I have
ever heard of. Almost all a direct result of his intense, restless,
unrelenting, incurable separation anxiety. I had never heard of separation anxiety
before having Ernie, and definitely did not understand it at first. But after thorough
research, I began the all-consuming task of curing him. This issue affected
everything. He could not be left alone, whether in a crate or free in the
house. If he was crated, he would bloody his paws trying to get out. If he was
loose in the house, he would tear down every curtain and every set of blinds on
every window he could access, destroying anything in his path. The worst part
was that he would always somehow hurt himself in the process. I put him on a behavior
modification plan, resulting in the most wonderfully obedient pet while I was
home, but did not affect his behavior when I was gone. I exercised him to
exhaustion; he would fall asleep in the car within moments of leaving the park.
But the minute he was alone, he was driven by pure adrenaline and panic and
found the energy to attempt his “escape”. I hired a dog behaviorist to come to my house
and work with him. She guaranteed her work, and told me that she had never had
a case of separation anxiety that she hadn’t been able to cure. After her third
visit, she stopped returning my calls. Needless to say, he was not cured. I
bought every edition of Cesar Milan’s dog training manuals, and then when I
couldn’t get his technique’s to work myself, applied to be on his TV show.
Finally, an anxiety medicine was approved for dogs (previously they had used
human valium to treat canine anxiety-no thanks.) so we got a prescription. The
medicine, in conjunction with a two-week vacation from work to teach him how to
be “happy” in his kennel, (including several nights of me sleeping IN his
kennel with him) gave us some peace. He learned to be relaxed while in his “house”,
and I knew he was safe. This process, from chaos and thousands of dollars in
vet bills to a safe, injury-free daily existence took over a year. People that meet him now could not begin to
understand what it used to be like, and how far we have come, but I am so proud
of his progress and of myself for not giving up. (As so many people suggested I
do.)
He has taught me, like no one else could, the most incredible
patience and understanding. Anger and sadness and frustration would just
confuse him and worsen his anxiety, so I had to learn to cope without them. I
sacrificed more than I thought possible just to keep him safe and happy – money/stability,
friends, opportunities. I often wondered why he and I were put together, when I
was so incapable of caring for an animal with his level of needs. But I realize
now that he was just preparing me for motherhood. I will undoubtedly be a
better mother because of Ernie.
I know that this baby girl will bring new trials and
lessons, but I can’t help but notice the sweet similarities between how these
two adventures began and how they are connected. Ernie was, after all, my FIRST
unexpected blessing. I just hope I have enough room in my heart for both of
them.
