I never had a dog as a kid—my parents weren’t keen on the commitment, and as an adult, I completely understand that now. But when my husband and I got married, he promised I could finally have a dog. I was so excited to bring home our beautiful golden Labrador puppy, Archie.
Archie was as close to the Marley & Me dog as you could get—strong, goofy, messy, and full of love. I adored him. But let’s be honest: you can’t sit a polar bear-sized Labrador on your knee or carry one in your handbag—and that’s exactly what I secretly wanted. My husband, meanwhile, was getting increasingly nervous, convinced my clucky behaviour meant I wanted a baby. Not on your nelly. But it was a great excuse to get another puppy.
Cue Ernest.
Ernest was the tiniest bundle of adorable chaos you’ve ever seen. He was the size of a guinea pig and somehow twice as cute.
I fell in love with my Shih Tzu just as deeply as I had with my Labrador. Ernest may have been tiny, but he had the biggest personality—and a total grip on my heart from the start. What surprised me most was how beautifully he and Archie bonded. Watching them play together was like therapy. Archie, despite being roughly ten times Ernest’s size, was endlessly gentle with him. It melted my heart.
Archie reached the ripe old age of 12 before he gave in. He had been my rock during one of the worst times of my life—when my brother passed away from cancer. Somehow, Archie just knew. He stayed close, never demanding, just present. Solid. Comforting. Quietly loyal in a way that only dogs seem to know how to be.
I’ve always believed he waited for me to go—on holiday, deep in the fog of grief—before passing away in his sleep at Uncle Howard’s. He spared me the moment, but it shattered me all the same. I was already grieving, and I think in some strange, emotional triage, I didn’t have anything left to give when I lost him. I often wonder if he knew what he meant to me. I hope he did.
Ernest seemed a little lost when Archie just didn’t come home. He mooched around the house, ears low, quietly checking all the spots they used to share. In the weeks that followed, he became my little shadow. With him being so small, it was easy to take him everywhere—to the car, the cafe, even to work. He even started sleeping at the end of our bed. Gradually, the bounce returned to his step. My happy little dog was back.
We began walking every morning in a local park, and I found a wonderful group of friends—all brought together by our dogs. Those morning walks became the best part of my day. One morning, my friend Sue turned up with a new addition: Ted, a devilishly handsome and slightly chaotic Frenchie. I fell in love again.
Ted needed a new home, and I had the perfect place. Ernest now had a playmate. It was a little bumpy at first—Ernest and I had a rhythm, and Ted was a walking disruption—but we found our new normal. We became a three. I must just mention: although my husband loves the dogs and will feed them at a push, he’s always been very clear—the dogs are mine.
Then came the Covid era. Oddly, it was one of the best summers I can remember weather-wise—bright sunshine for months. We walked for miles every day. In August of that year, my dad passed away under very tragic circumstances, and once again, I was completely bereft.
You never truly understand the healing power of a dog until you’ve needed it. My dogs got me through the darkest time of my life. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t try to fix it. They were just there.
Today, I made the heartbreaking decision to have my best friend put to sleep.
Ernest was 15 years old. He had seen me through more than most people ever will. This morning, when I saw him struggling, I knew. I left the house in tears, carrying my little man in my arms. The bin men saw my distress and rushed over to comfort me. You can’t put into words the kindness of strangers when you’re at your lowest ebb. They gave me a solemn wave as I took Ernest on his final journey.
The vets were exquisitely kind. I stayed with my boy until his very last breath. I kissed his head as I said goodbye. I know it was the kindest thing I could do for him—but still, I hope he forgives me.
When I got home, Ted and our little foster dog Ellie were waiting. They gave their usual snuggles, but it wasn’t the same. Ted seemed quieter. Dogs know. They always know. When you’re a dog lover, you get it. You just do.
I know hundreds of people go through this pain everyday, my best friends have all been through it, but nothing prepares you for the heartbreak. If you are a dog lover and facing this awful decision, I trust you and so does your dog. You will make the right call.
I will take a huge amount away from my Ernest era and he has left a very firm paw print on all of our lives.
As some kind people have commented on my facebook post – run free Ernest, hopefully with Archie.
And Frank. And Benji. And Eric. And Coco. And Mabey. And Perdy. And Floyd. And Matilda. And Bobby. And Max. And Jimbo.
And every other friend we have made and lost along the way.
Words – Joanne Brook-Smith