About a Dog

Charlie
December, 1990 - November 16, 2007

In May of my Junior year in High School my mom, brother and I went to the Humane Society to see what sort of puppies they had. I don't even really remember any of the other dogs. From the moment I saw Charlie the decision was made (mine was at least. I can't speak for Mom and Scott on that one). She came home with us that day and thus started the greatest love/hate relationship that ever was between man and dog.

Charlie was a very bad dog. She ate everything. We're not talking about your average mess maker/strew the garbage out all over the house kind of ate. We're talking about the trash can was full and now it's empty ate. The bathroom garbage was her favorite second only to Scott's bedroom trash during allergy season. She also loved the kitchen trash and, bless her heart, we had to tie shut the doors to the cabinet where the trash was kept every time we left the house until she was 15. The only reason that changed was that mom and dad moved and got a big step can for the kitchen. Her other famous binges included the roses out of one of moms dried flower arrangements (she literally pulled all the flowers out of the little container, dumped them on the floor, then picked out all the roses and left the rest), an entire bowl of rock candy (I didn't know dogs liked rock candy), and my personal favorite was the time she ate a whole sock. This wasn't some little ankle sock, it was a tube sock, and yes she really ripped it into a long strip and swallowed the thing whole. I know because I was the one out in the yard with her when her labor pains started the next day if you know what I mean. We were actually very lucky she came through that one on her own. We didn't even know she'd eaten the sock until our little marathon session out in the yard. It could have been very bad.

Actually, she loved socks in more than one way. You know the dryer monster that seems to eat one of each pair of socks? Well ours turned out to be a beagle mut. I'll never forget the day my mom came red faced into the kitchen saying, "Katherine! What has your brother been doing with these socks in the living room?" Turns out old Charlie had found a new kind of bone to bury and a new kind of ground to bury it in. That night we found 17 socks stuffed between couch cushions, under the throws that were draped over the backs of chairs, and under pillows.

She was an average student. She passed obedience school, but I'm convinced she was just showing off for the other dogs because when she got home she was anything but obedient. We (Scott especially) work with her for hours and hours, but to no avail. All of my other friends could open their back doors to let their dogs out to potty. Not us. Rain, shine, blizzard, typhoon we were out there with Charlie on a leash. When she did get out without her leash hours of chasing, calling, begging, and bribing ensued. She was super fast. I can still see her dashing around the cul-de-sac and behind the neighbors houses with her ears flapping around madly, tongue drooping out the side of her mouth and a delighted, almost laughing look on her face. She never really went too, too far. She just loved to run. And she always either came back or let us catch her - eventually.

One of Charlie's favorite pastimes was telling us that she had to go potty (especially in the rain, snow, or typhoons as listed above) just so that she could stand there and enjoy the outdoors. In her later years she would do this (sometimes I wondered if she was remembering old times when she could slip her collar and run), only she'd get everything turned around and if she actually had to go potty she'd wait until she came back inside (much to Dad's complete displeasure).

She was funny looking, too, in a very cute sort of way. She had the coloring of a beagle, with a long nose, stocky body, short legs, and a curly tail. She always sat with her legs straight out to one side and by the time she was 10 had warts all over the place. But her face was really expressive, her ears super soft (although she never liked to have them touched) and her curly tail was always flopping from one side of her butt to the other.

For about six years now she's had different health problems accumulating. Periodically we'd think she had liver disease because her liver enzymes would be so high and she'd act really sick. Then one day she'd perk up and be like a puppy again. Then arthritis hit, and she quit eating and going up and down the stairs. She slept all the time. She was completely deaf and mostly blind. I think her sniffer was broken too. But she always seemed to get better until the last several weeks. Yesterday the vet confirmed what we already knew. She had a huge mass in her abdomen and she was in a lot of pain and there is nothing he can do for her. It's time for us to let her go.

She was put down tonight. It's been kind of a rough day knowing that I won't get to see her again. Of course I've said goodbye to her every time I've been home for the last 6 or 7 years thinking it would be the last time I saw her, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's just that for so long I thought it was about time for her to give up and move on, but she just refused to die. And now she has and that's a little weird.

Anyway - I know I said earlier that Charlie was a bad dog. I can't take it back, because that's the truth. But for all of her badness there was just enough sweetness and cuteness, and an abundance of loyalty and love, that she really brought a lot of joy into our lives.

So, I know this was a very, very long post about a dog (and I didn't even tell you about the time she was almost murdered by the neighbors dog - again, not kidding), but she was 17, which is 119 in dog years so there was a lot to say.