Distinctly Montana Magazine

50 D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A M A G A Z I N E • FA L L 2 0 2 6 "Does Ernie want a little treat? Huh? Does that big ole boy want a lil' treat? Is Ernie on the Ittie Bittie Treat Committee?" There is no greater breach of Ernie's trust, and of the human/ pet dynamic, than failing to take Ernie to the pharmacy with me. I only did it once or twice, and even then only because Ernie had chewed through her leash, one of her favorite but by no means the only thing she likes to chew through. I left her at home to consider what she'd done, although I wasn't cruel enough to tell her that I was going to her favorite place without her. After I came back, she somehow knew where I had been. She was in- consolable, or rather, nearly inconsolable because it took four peanut butter buddies to win her back. Since then I have endeavored to take Ernie to the pharmacy ev- ery time. Little Ernie doesn't know what the pharmacy is, cer- tainly has no idea why we are really there. I assume she thinks we're there to get her a piece of jerky, and that whatever else I'm doing is at best tertiary, but she sits next to me while I'm at the counter, licking her lips at the thought of her forthcoming treat, and patiently waits for me to conclude my foolishness, which she endures with the forbearance of a saint. If one of us is more likely to complain about the wait, it's me. It has irrevocably altered the dimensions of what a pharmacy is. It used to be a place to fulfill your prescriptions, but Ernie has taught me that the pharmacy can be a destination in itself, a place to go. It is a great gift, given to us by He who bestows them, that we can make such an innocent and guileless creature happy. That it takes almost no effort to do so, just a few drops of gas and a dollar's worth of beef jerky, only makes it more sacred. Ernie wants so little out of life—just a few belly rubs, walks, a treat or two, and a trip to the pharmacy now and then, but most of all, to be with me. She has no trouble making that clear to me at all, without using any words, only a low growl and a wriggly butt. Perhaps I'm losing my mind in my old age, but this seems like a sacred thing: that we are able to share so much with some- thing so different from us, to have a sort of communion with it. But above all, it gives me hope that, someday, my wife will un- derstand me. If a dog can, anything is possible! I've never met a dog with nothing behind their eyes, BUT I'VE MET PLENTY OF PEOPLE THAT WAY.

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