Live Oak Blues What happens.

I’d like to introduce you to Ernie. He’s a CorgieJack (or RussCorg), stands about ankle high, and has breath that can strip paint. He’s 14 years old, but can still outrun me on my best day, and makes it his mission to beat me to the back door to do his business. Ernie is The Family Dog: he lived the first third of his life with my brother Thomas (when virtually all his near-death scenarios occurred), the next third with my Mom and Dad, and has bestowed upon me the privilege of spending his final third with me. Make no mistake: although he lives here, he belongs to the whole family.

That he has even made it this far is a miracle. He has endured falling off a boat in the Chesapeake Bay (unbeknownst to the pilot until 15 minutes later), sinking with that same boat a year later, and a vicious attack by a Rottweiler (Ernie has no idea that he is a “small dog”). After he fell off the boat, he simply kept swimming toward it until my brother noticed, turned around, and found him. You see, Ernie wants nothing more than to spend every waking moment by your side.

Coming home from work, letting him back in from outside, it doesn’t matter. Ernie is just as excited to see you again. His whole body wiggles and he dances until you pet him. If you forget, he’ll tell you about it in this half-spoken, muted howl. And when you do pet him, all is well in his world. When my beloved Waldo died, Ernie went into a two-day depression. He does not take his relationships lightly. He is everything I aspire to be.