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Though indeed a legend, this is a different Earnhardt. We still miss our rescued Schnauzer prenamed Earnhardt — a great German name. We simply called him Earnie, or is that Ernie? He couldn’t spell and therefore wasn’t offended.

Discovered on a local page called Freecycle, someone had rescued him and was seeking him a new home. Fond of our previous Schnauzers, we decided to go meet him.

He was in a very small home with a family of four young children and at least eight other canines. His overgrown hair was matted, twisted and gnarled beyond belief. We were told he could not be housebroken. My immediate thoughts were, “How can you tell?” With the myriad of other critters and kids, it could only have been an assumption.

With subdued excitement, he came home with us. It was impossible to cut all the knots and tangles out, so using my best barber scissors I did my best before bathing him. Needless to say, it was not the best grooming job; however, the stinkiness dissipated as his hair dried. He was gaunt and reminded me of a salty, old sea captain. He lacked only the hat. 

Next on the agenda was housebreaking. It was quite simple. I scolded him for failures and praised and rewarded his successes. Who wouldn’t respond in a positive way to that? Within a few days, he was completely trained. 

We put him out on a leash until we were comfortable that he wouldn’t bolt; but then, why should he? He had never had it so good.

It was obvious that he had been abused. Until the day he died, he skulked and hid whenever he saw a newspaper, fly swatter, broom or anything else that could be perceived as a weapon. He didn’t trust easily. It was saddening to witness the haunting fear in those big chestnut brown eyes.

For months, we didn’t think he could bark. On reflection, we believe he was afraid to. When he did, it startled us. It was loud and sharp. For all the years we had him, he only barked at strangers.

Earnie loved children and babies. He was so tender and gentle with them. 

Undoubtedly, he was the best dog we have ever had, though our little Lhatese (Lhasa Apso/Maltese) Molly is pretty nifty. 

He was allowed on the furniture but always waited for the go-ahead from one of us before climbing onboard. Earnie is the only dog I’ve ever known that didn’t lick us, much to my joy. He snuggled and cuddled. Not once did he ever chew up anything other than an 8-ounce bar of semisweet chocolate, but that’s another story.

Earnie went nearly every place we did, the exception being church and our volunteer work. For 10 years, we traveled to Birmingham each week to put in a full day of volunteerism. With a two hour drive each way on top of an eight hour shift, we anticipated his having an accident. It never happened. Not once. I swear he had a bladder of iron, especially during downpours. 

Loyal to the end, he never left our side. We traveled with him and never needed a restraint. He was all business.

Perhaps his one flaw was his voracious appetite. One thing we had in common was our love of apples — my favorite snack. The entire time we had Earnie, I never was able to eat a whole apple myself. He insisted we share. 

He gained some weight and followed Hubby around the place as he puttered in the barn, garage, garden or elsewhere. He was our constant companion.

Poor Earnie was so loyal that when we left him alone, he never touched anything — not his food, water or toys. His attachment was so strong to his rescuers that he simply laid on the floor in the same pitiful position until we returned. 

After a couple of years, we got him a companion. She was just a puppy, but they loved each other dearly. Molly and Earnie had puppies together. They look like white Schnauzers and are beloved by their owners.

He developed diabetes and became insulin dependent. He went blind and bumped into things and missed all the steps coming in or going out. Eventually, though reluctantly, we had to put him down. It’s been more than six years yet still heart wrenching. 

We didn’t own Earnie, or Molly, for that matter. They own us, hook, line and sinker. If you have never loved or been loved by a dog, you are not as rich as you may think. 

RIP Earnie. There will never be another like you.

— A coal miner’s daughter born in Appalachia and schooled in Michigan, she currently lives in rural Athens. Hill describes herself as a cook and cookbook author, jack of all trades and master of none, a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She shares her home with her husband, Bob, and their spoiled-beyond-belief dog, Molly.