Nellie Bellie

Nellie is my best friend. Every day I wake up and she comes to greet me from her bed at the foot of mine. She hands me her Muppet-like paw, bowing her head for a cuddle and a kiss... and I start my day with gratitude.

Before Nellie, every day started in pain.

It was my suggestion that my family get a dog -- I thought it would certainly help my niece, who was struggling with some serious trauma. She saw a counselor, but the pain remained. I thought, maybe she needs a friend. A cuddle buddy who would be there no matter what.

I didn't realize I was really the one who needed help.

I moved home before the pandemic, after a bout of very serious, traumatic events that aren't truly important to the story. What matters is that I was in a dark place. I was horrified to be back in the childhood home where my trauma began. I could feel the memory of it living in the walls, ringing in my siblings, echoing in my niece, radiating from my parents.

I craved escape for a long time. But I've spent a lot of time introspecting on my own healing journey, and I wanted to help my family see that they could heal, too. So I decided that even though I was hurting and going through horrible things, I would use my time at home to provide safety and comfort to those around me, regardless of how I felt.

This is called People Pleasing, and is a toxic trait I'm still trying to drop.

But, this is a tale of dogs! Why are you discussing childhood trauma?

We had dogs when I was a kid. One, Diamond, was put down for biting our neighbor after my parents got divorced. The next, Belle, never got trained, and was violently uncontrollable. One day she just wasn't there anymore.

We never had any pets after that. No companionship. Our home was a prison.

And since then, I've never really understood people's attachments to their pets. Some of my friends would whip out their phones and show me pictures for 20 minutes straight... and as an adult, who hadn't had a pet since I was 10, I thought it was supremely weird.

And then I met Nellie.

Nobody in my family was inclined to take care of Nellie. My mom said it was her dog -- she did buy her from a breeder -- but wouldn't look up from her phone to take care of her. My brother took her on walks just to get out of the house, but never cuddled her or gave her food. My niece, daughter of a sister who wasn't around, treated her like a toy instead of an animal, and their relationship hasn't improved.

So I spent every day for three years, unemployed, depressed, and tired of giving from an empty cup... but learning true, unconditional love from this baby dog.

Nellie is a golden doodle -- half retreiver, half poodle. She's a genius, more emotionally intelligent than any animal I've ever seen and more grateful for the little things than any person I've ever known. She loves snacks -- especially peanut butter -- and will do just about anything for a treat.

My favorite memory of Nellie is not really a memory, but a lesson. Humans complicate life so much. We are disconnected from nature, and from ourselves. We cause problems and pain when we're hurt, and we often don't forgive for years at a time. Humans carry their trauma like an axe in the back.

At least, I did.

I could tell you about the first time I took her off the leash to play in our one-acre back yard, and how she put a smile on my face as I picked mint and raspberries with her every summer.

I could tell you about how after so many years of silence, I started to sing her little songs like I was a little kid again. My favorite is to the tune of Rubber Ducky from Sesame Street: "Nellie bellie, you're the one! You make my life, so much fun! Nellie bellie, I'm awfully fond of you!"

I could tell you about how every day she jumps up on my chair, right on my lap, like she weighs 20lbs instead of 70.

I could tell you about the way my brother and I have created a "Nellie Voice" and have silly conversations with her while she wiggles her tail, oblivious to what we're saying, but happy to be there.

She was there when I was crying. She was there to make me laugh. She was there when I shaved my head, and even though I looked ridiculous, she loved me anyway. She was there as I learned, from the ground up, how to accept myself exactly as I am: queer, trans, and autistic.

In three short years, I have transformed. I am no longer living in a dark cloud of my own past, but looking forward to getting up with her every day. I've healed the broken inner child within me, just by hanging out with this dog. And I get it now! Finally, when I was 29 -- 32 now -- I understand why people are Like That. I get the tons of pictures, the anecdotal stories, the way my friends were always talking about their animals... she's my baby!

And sharing my life Nellie has been the greatest adventure I've ever had, and I have never been more grateful for anything than to have had the privilege of knowing her.

So we go on walks. We play outside. We explore nature together like the little woodland creatures we are. I've learned to take better care of myself by generally choosing to eat food I can share with her -- because sharing my meal with Nellie makes her happy. And making her happy makes me happy.

It's a win-win. Thanks for being you, Nellie!