Above all else, I have Tavi to thank for getting me through it all. 

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had great moments in 2026 and we’re ready for more as we enter the fall season, but overall, this has been a difficult one. My industry is in a precarious position, my closest colleague was laid off last week, and we’re looking at a super El Niño season to come.

Even the good stuff, the new projects, the home renovations, the awards, came with extra on the calendar. 

But no matter what happens, I’ve got Tavi, my mini pin queen. I know that as hard as the day gets, I can ask her if she wants to go out and she’ll light up and bring me to her leash.

At first glance, she seems like she’d be a dog that causes anxiety, rather than alleviates it. Even her rescue group pointedly mentioned that she was “a challenge” and “is a dog that will require a lot of patience.” Her early history made her reactive and vigilant in ways that our many sessions with trainers have never really been able to tackle.

But after just an hour of meeting Tavi, I knew that despite all odds, this was the dog for me. 

(For more of Tavi, check out our story here!)

I was diagnosed with acute anxiety as a teenager. I kept being tested for asthma and getting different kinds of inhalers, but none of them worked. I wasn’t having asthma attacks; I was having anxiety attacks. The first time I saw a doctor, he told me that he wished I’d been in his office five years earlier. 

As an adult, I’ve more or less managed my life around it. Sometimes, it’s a superpower. I’ve pulled all-nighters with comedy writers, working out topical shows for the next day. I’ve been on-set rewriting jokes in between takes because the network wasn’t sure legal would approve airing the original ones.

I thrive in high pressure situations, but I crumble when it’s time to open the mail. I’ll lay awake at night replaying every time I said the wrong thing.

Tavi and I are very similar, in our human and dog parallel lives. We see each other’s patterns. I can see what’s going to make her react. She can see when I start to spiral in my anxiety. 

Before I got her, Tavi was a pound puppy from the wrong side of the tracks with broken legs. So it makes sense that Tavi’s major trigger is other dogs, particularly dogs that have the audacity to be bigger than her, which is most of them.

She is, to use a scientific term, a real asshole. She gets anxious and rather than show fear, she goes hard in the other direction, yapping, lunging, basically daring the other dog to roll up its sleeves and take it outside. 

The solution we’ve found isn’t elegant, but it’s oddly effective: I pick her up and cover up her eyes. 

She enters immediate zen. She knows it’s still there, but if she can’t see the other dog, it’s not something she has to worry about. She doesn’t have to protect herself or protect me. I’m taking care of it.

I can feel her breaths get deeper and calmer. Her little hummingbird heartbeat slows down as I carry her. By the time I put her back down on the ground, she’s chilled out and ready to keep it moving. 

In her own way, she does the same thing for me. I mean, she doesn’t put her paws over my eyes when I get a particularly stressful call over Zoom, although I have to admit that might be pretty adorably effective. But she does her own version of blocking and centering me. 

My version of reactivity is overworking myself, losing perspective, and forgetting to give myself time and space for tiny moments of joy.

Left to my own devices, I would constantly ask myself how my day can be more productive. I would forget to ask how my day can bring delight and happiness. 

That’s where Tavi really saves me. If she had it her way, my to-do list would have only a few items and at least half of them would be snack-related.

My computer is a dumb square of light I spend far too much time staring into when the sun is out and the beach is just a drive away. My five-year plan and daily word count means nothing to her.

Tavi also makes it known that she abhors boredom and requires, at an absolute minimum, “fun stuff” at least once a day. This can be walking through a dog-friendly shop, going out to a park, seeing a friend, or her all-time favorite: “brunch” at dog-friendly bars and restaurants.

She’s amassed a little fan club at the places where she’s become a regular. She knows who will gladly pick her up and carry her around, who’s good for tossing a few snacks her way, and who gives the best pets. It also means that pretty much every day for the past 12 years, I’ve been forced to get out of the house and do something fun, out in public, with other people.

Especially since I’ve been working from home for eight of those 12 years, it’s been vital in keeping my sanity. It breaks up my day, it sparks new creativity, and makes me feel like I’m in touch with my local community.

Maybe this sounds trite, but it feels so good to make her happy. The tail wags, her immediate perk-up when I ask her if she wants to go to brunch or to the park, and the happiness and gratitude when we return home is the highlight of my day. 

Those are the little moments where I can just feel her presence regulating me. The warm weight of her tiny body on my lap, the velvet softness of her fur, never fails to bring me back into the present moment.

I’ve tried meditation before, but always ended up getting too stuck in my head. No matter how many times I tried, my brain took the direction to “clear your mind” as “do you think anyone’s secretly mad at you? This would be a fun time to over-analyze every interaction you’ve had for the last ten years.” 

But with Tavi, it’s completely different. She’s right there with me, needing that grounding touch from me just as much as I need it from her. If I get distracted or my mind wanders too much, a gentle nudge from her brings me back into the moment. 

As she’s gotten older, we’ve started doing massages a few times a day to keep her back and hip muscles from stiffening up. It’s become our nightly ritual – we get into bed, put on a TV show or stand-up special, and she sits on my lap for her massage. She absolutely loves it.

When I find the spot on her back where she’s been holding her tension, she closes her eyes and throws her head back, savoring the feeling of it. When I roll her shoulders and hips between my palms, she lets out a contented sigh that hits me right in the heart. 

I’ve noticed that since we started, we both sleep better. It’s forced me to mentally put away whatever stress I have about everything I need to handle the next day. For anywhere between 5 and 15 minutes, it’s just about our bond and the tender joys of taking care of her.

When she’s done, she lets me know. She gives herself some deep stretches, yawns, and snuggles in with me for the night. 

Within minutes, I’m breathing in her tortilla chip smell and listening to her soft rhythmic snoring until we’re both deeply asleep, as relaxed as we ever get.