I miss my happy little fellow. Charlie was a kindred spirit of fellow members of the animal kingdom, even when they were on the other side of a glass window.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Today marks the first anniversary of Charlie’s death, which leaves a hole in my heart that no one and no other pet could fill. His sweet disposition, sensitive spirit, and happy personality are tender memories. I smile to remember his whole-body-wagging excitement over favorite foods and treats and promised walks or rides in the car or guests at the front door. Here’s my all-time favorite photo of him.
I loved being his mom. Taking care of my baby boy was a privilege I couldn’t have imagined. When I think about his big goofy grin and excited bucking whenever I announced, “Charlie, I’m making broccoli!!! for your supper,” I cry. (Funny, my husband never responds to that announcement with the same enthusiasm.) I loved Charlie’s patience with us, too, like not waking us up, even when he wanted something. When I cried, he nuzzled my leg, licked my cheek, and hovered around me till I got my emotional bearings. Wish he were here for today’s tears.
Charlie’s HUGE vocabulary of understood words and communication methods amazed me. For example, he rolled his eyes toward the back door if he wanted to go out on the patio or toward the dog-food cupboard when he was hungry. He went into the bedroom and rolled his eyes up to say he wanted to be lifted up on the bed. If he was on the bed and wanted to be lifted down, he rolled his eyes toward the floor. With so much hair, he didn’t like getting hot, so if he wanted the ceiling fan on, guess where he rolled those big brown eyes. When his water bowl got empty ... you guessed it.
And of course, the standard communication for “I don’t want to ever, ever, ever be in the basement because I might have to endure a bath” was to wriggle away and plod up the basement stairs. Once I carried Charlie to the basement to wait out a tornado warning, and no matter how many times I told him he wasn’t getting a bath, he hustled up those stairs—no small trick since they were slippery wood. Finally, I picked him up, took him upstairs, got his favorite dog bed, brought them both back to the basement, laid him on the bed, and sat down right next to him on the floor. I petted him and talked soothingly with him for a half hour or so until the tornadoes spotted nearby had passed. I was as glad for his presence in my fear as he was for mine.
That was the thing about Charlie. He just wanted to be near us. And we wanted to be near him. Both my husband and I miss him dearly. There’s something about being a dog mom or dad that uniquely shows you what love and joy are.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Charlie wagged his whole body when people arrived for a party and gave sloppy kisses to anyone who would let him. Once guests settled into socializing and eating, Charlie felt lonely. But then his cousin Jeremy would play with him and hold him and scratch him. Charlie loved that, as is evident in this photo from Mother's Day 2011.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
This is Charlie's mom. Today Charlie accompanied me to the pet hospital, but I drove home without him. What I took him in for was not serious, but within three hours, my sweet, precious little companion these last 8+ years died of peritonitis. Charlie's blog was often a light-hearted take on doggiedom, and I thought perhaps today's post could continue in that vein with his take on doggie heaven. I am too heartbroken for that today. As close as I can come is to say I hope I see my little guy in heaven some day. I sure will miss him. Charlie, baby, I love you so much.
Friday, June 10, 2011
I have a cool yellow racing stripe now. Mom thinks it’s a raincoat. That’s okay. I’ll let her think that. When I wear my racing stripe, I speed down the sidewalk so fast, raindrops couldn’t catch me anyway. My goal is to run so fast, I tow Mommy on her tummy behind me. This morning I almost did it, too. And I was so excited to be outside in my racing stripe, I pranced and bucked and ran in so many circles, Mommy had a hard time clicking the little black box at me. She did snap me in one still moment though.
P.S. Thanks, Auntie Karen! I love my new racing stripe. Hope Henry doesn't miss it.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Even though I am adventure dog at home, my adventures are usually squirrel-, bunny-, or party-related. Recently I endured the dreaded bath, which usually means I’m going to a party—but this time, Dad put my comfy cozy in the back seat of the car, and off I went for a long ride. This ride was much farther than the post office, the library, or GrammaGrampa’s house—my usual destinations. Our few stops were just false alarms, and I got very upset when Mom or Dad went inside a building for a few minutes, but pretty soon we were all together again rolling alongside big brown fields. Finally, we arrived at the adventure, which was called Amana.
Mostly I waited outside with one of my parents while the other went inside a store, but I got to swing on lots of swingy benches, and one time I even got to go inside an eating place with lots of tables. Mom and Dad kept ssshhhing me. They even gave me a treat every few minutes to keep me quiet. But whenever a lady in a white apron came over to ooh and aah at the cute doggie (me), I just had to whine and yip with excitement. I hoped all the ladies would pet me, but Mom said they might get in trouble with the health department if they did. So Mom and Dad wolfed hamburgers really really fast, and then one of the ladies let us out a back door. So that was my first new adventure.
The next adventure Mom and Dad spelled out. I thought B-N-B might be like when they spell out T-R-E-A-T or W-A-L-K so that I don’t flip out with excitement before they’re ready for me to flip out. Turns out B-N-B was a place with beds and halls. When the door of our room opened, I bolted to run up and down the halls with one of my parents chasing me. That was a fun game. I got to sleep all by myself on a very big bed. I was very tired from the Amana adventure and snort-snored loudly.
Wait, there’s more. The next day was an even longer ride in the car until we arrived at the next adventure, meeting a new aunt and uncle. First I explored their house, which had some fuzzy floors, some slippery floors, some fuzzy stairs, some slippery steps. My little legs went so fast, my ears flew behind me. Until I got used to the slippery steps, I made a few belly flops. I got lots of attention, but I was on-edge. I like routine, but even seeing my own food bowl from home, I felt too anxious to eat. So Mom fed me from her hand, and Dad took me out for lots of little walks. My aunt and uncle talked to me and petted me, and I was just starting to feel calmer, when all five of us went for a ride in an unfamiliar car—once again, I didn’t know what to expect.
This time, we went to lots of museums. And when I say “we,” I mean all five of us. Almost everywhere, nice people let me go inside museums. I felt very special and secure in dad’s arms. I was a good boy and didn’t bark while the adults looked at covered wagons and Christmas trees and movies about pioneers. Even when I saw horsies and oxen and buffalo in the pictures, I didn’t even whine. But then later, outside a soda fountain, ponies carrying Santa Claus clip-clopped right by me and I just had to bark and pull Dad toward the street. The whole day was one adventure after another and again, I seriously conked out at night.
By the time Mom and Dad and I packed up our car to drive back to our home, I was so tired from all my new adventures, I slept the whole 11-hour ride.