By Jennifer Buergermeister
It begins in an old house turned into an office, where I worked as an assistant to a dynamic duo of filmmakers exploring the mysteries of male mystique and violence. Each morning, as I stepped through the door, I’m greeted not just by creative energy, but by Cody, a sable sheltie with wise eyes and a calm presence.
Cody belongs to Carrie, my boss, but in time he becomes part of my daily joy. I fall in love with that little dog. The warmth he brings into that office space plants a quiet longing in me, a yearning for a furry companion of my own. And without knowing it, I’m being prepared for heartbreak.
Spring of 2001 arrives, and after months of pleading with my husband, I finally convince him to “just go look” at sheltie puppies. We pull up to a breeder’s trailer surrounded by a metal fence and chaos – dozens of yipping, jumping, excitable puppies. My heart sinks. It looks like a full-blown puppy mill. I second-guess everything. We’re surrounded by life, but it doesn’t feel right.
Then, I see him. Off to the side, a quiet pup hides with his head tucked beneath a rusted pipe. Unlike the others, he doesn’t bark or bounce. He doesn’t even flinch as I approach, just shifts his eyes toward me and gives the faintest smile, his tail making a gentle wave. That’s it. In that instant, I know: this is my dog. Henry finds me, and our “just go look” turns into “let’s take him home.”
Henry becomes our everything. Our constant. We take him everywhere. He grounds us in joy, routine, and unconditional love. But only two months later, life cracks open: July 12. My husband dies suddenly of cardiac arrest. I’m left staring into a future I never imagined: alone, grief-stricken, and responsible for a 16-week-old puppy who needs me as much as I need him. In that unthinkable moment, Henry becomes my lifeline.
Grief is not a wound that heals. It’s a sea we learn to swim in. And while the pain dulls, it never disappears. But through those early days of shock and sobbing, Henry stays by my side, his presence reminding me that I am not entirely alone. That there is still love. That life, however shattered, still holds some warmth.
I owe Henry my survival. I owe my late husband thanks for giving in to my pestering, for driving out to that trailer, for saying yes to a little sable sheltie who would become my anchor through tragedy. Without Henry, I don’t know how I would’ve endured the months that followed.
It’s no secret anymore. Science backs up what we pet lovers have always known: animals heal. They reduce blood pressure, lower depression, and increase our resilience to stress (CDC, 2023). Just by looking into our pet’s eyes, we release oxytocin, the “love hormone” that deepens our bond and soothes the nervous system (Walecki, 2023). Pets give us purpose. They tether us to daily life when grief threatens to untether us completely.
And yet, every year, millions of animals languish in shelters, many never making it out alive. Why, when the benefits of pet ownership are so clear? Perhaps because too few understand just how powerful this companionship can be. That’s why I share this story.
At Tufts University, researchers find that dog owners get 150 more minutes of exercise a week than non-owners (Walecki, 2023). Exercise boosts longevity and sparks community. Pets bring us into the world, and they help us connect, laugh, and care.
Mental health in America is in crisis. Loneliness is an epidemic. But pets? They’re part of the cure. Emotional support animals ease anxiety, PTSD, even addiction recovery. They comfort children with autism and adults facing blindness, trauma, and aging. But for pets to heal us, we must first offer them a home.
That means rethinking our systems by creating incentives for landlords to allow pets, offering support for foster programs, educating people on responsible ownership, and giving grace to those struggling to keep their pets during hard times.
It also means remembering that not every pet fits every family. Immunocompromised individuals and pregnant women need to take precautions. But thanks to the Internet and veterinarians, education is at our fingertips. There’s always a way to find the right fit.
I will never forget the night shortly after my husband’s death when a friend invites me to dinner. I expect a quiet evening, but instead find myself the seventh wheel – three couples, and me. As their laughter echoes around the table, the realization that I am no longer part of a pair sends a crack through my chest. I excuse myself. I drive home through tears so thick I can barely see the road. I fumble with the lock, and then, as the door swings open, I see Henry. Sitting. Waiting. His eyes meet mine, and I fall to my knees. I bury my face into his fur, and sob until I have no tears left.
That moment breaks something open in me, but it also begins my healing. I understand then: Henry is not just a dog. He is a lifeline. A reason to stay. A reason to breathe. My heart still aches, but it beats.
That night, I realize something else: fear is a construct, and love, especially the unconditional kind that animals offer—has the power to carry us through even the darkest valleys.
Henry becomes my first guide on the path back to health and wholeness. He is the beginning of a new chapter.
So, please, if your heart is aching, if your home is quiet, if your soul is in need of connection, consider rescuing a pet. They may save your life, as Henry did mine.
Thank you, Thorsten. Thank you, Henry. You were my greatest teachers. You remain my heroes.