Ode to Charlie

A house with three animals shouldn’t feel empty.

I mean, there’s the Chihuahua, Steve, who is basically a firecracker wrapped in fur.

And our two shelter cats, Thor and Bane, spend their days playing, fighting, and creating drama. When things get too quiet, they suddenly start galloping down the hallway at full speed, sliding as they round the corner in the bedroom and ultimately crashing into the closet with great sound and fury.

I call it NASCAR – the Natural Alliance of Sliding Cats And Ratcatchers.

They’re quite the threesome.

But it used to be a foursome, fronted by the most wonderful dog I’ve ever known, Charlie.

Chuck came into my life back in 2010 when he was already nearly two years old. A friend of ours from Alabama came for a visit while we were living in Greenville, South Carolina, and she brought Charlie with her.

He was a Shetland Sheep Dog who already had a good life, but was a timid little soul who lived among several other Shelties. Maybe, our friend thought, we might want to welcome him to our smaller, more diverse tribe.

Mary and I already had another dog and two cats then, but Charlie got along with them all immediately. He took a leisurely sniffing tour of the house, played a bit in the backyard, and spent his time smiling and wagging his tail. If he was in a shell when he arrived, he came out of it nicely.

Still, with a houseful of fur, perhaps we had reached the stage of life where it was time to downsize. So, knowing Chuck already had it made, we figured it was best to let him keep living in the environment he already knew.

But as Mary and our friend were saying their goodbyes, Charlie was on the futon with me and I was petting him. Then, he looked at me – eyes wide and bright, and tail swinging like a pendulum.

At that moment I called an audible and announced that, yes, I wanted to be his dog dad. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt he had to be part of my life.

Turns out, he was one of the best parts.

In the interest of full disclosure, Chuck – unlike most Shelties – didn’t display what one would call high intelligence. While others of his breed are always up for a chase or ready to retrieve a stick, Charlie preferred huddling with you on a chaise lounge and retrieving a snack.

But what he lacked in brainpower he made up for in sweetness.

One of my favorite “activities” was taking naps with him. At first when I’d lie down, he’d flop at the foot of the bed. Often when I’d wake up, I’d be greeted by a cold nose and hot breath because he’d have eased his way right up next to me, head on pillow.

And when we weren’t having a siesta, he enjoyed sitting next to me while I wrote, usually plopping his head on my knee and then settling in for a snooze.

But he was also genuinely kind, which might sound a bit odd when describing a dog. During his time with us, he was introduced to four different shelter cats. As we brought each one home, he was the first to greet them, usually with a head boop and a wag.

In recent years bedtime consisted of Mary, Steve and me under the covers and Charlie on the bedspread with Bane and Thor on either side of him.

He was like the center of a sandwich, only served between two slices of feline.

He didn’t bite, he rarely barked … he merely loved (and loved to eat). In a word, he was perfect.

Sadly, dogs are far too good for this world, which I guess is why they can’t stay in it long enough.

Aging finally took its toll on our beautiful boy, first causing deafness, then arthritis, then chronic kidney problems and near blindness.

So last Friday – when we sat on the futon together and he looked at me – I knew it was time to make the awful decision no one ever wants to make and let him go.

You bring animals into your life with a duty to house, feed and care for them, and you take on that responsibility gladly because you love them.

I’ve loved them all and mourned each passing, but I don’t know if I’ve loved any of them as much as I love Charlie.

And I have no clue when I’ll stop mourning. It’ll happen one day, but today is not that day. Lately, I keep thinking of those lyrics from Mr. Bojangles:

We spoke in tears of fifteen years
How his dog and him
They travelled about
His dog up and died
He up and died
After 20 years he still grieves

In the meantime, Steve is still a live wire, skillfully countering his obnoxiousness with undeniable cuteness.

As for Bane and Thor, they show me plenty of affection – when they’re not crashing together in their dash to the checkered flag.

I know time heals a broken heart, and my three four-legged boys are doing what they can to cheer me up. The house won’t always feel this empty.

But I also know there’ll never be another Charlie.

He was a very, very good boy … and having my heart filled with his unconditional love for more than 13 years makes me the luckiest dog dad who ever lived.