Do you have a dog? I mean, do you have a dog who is a real pal? I have one. His name is Charlie. If you've visited this site for awhile you'll know he came into our lives nearly four years ago as a five year old rescue pup. Well, he wasn't exactly a pup because of his age. The last thing in the world I wanted as 72 year old curmudgeon man was a dog but The Queen was all for it and who am I to go against the love of my life. Our youngest son had come across him and since they already had two doggies we were next up. Folks, it took me all of one night to fall in love with this Cairn Terrier. If you're not familiar with this breed think Toto from the Wizard of Oz.
In my life I've had a couple of canines pals. My first was a Cocker Spaniel who we adopted in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I have no idea about the circumstances of how Tinker came into our lives. All I recall is this little black fur ball was sitting on the floor of our 1952 Studebaker as we made the trip back home to Iowa.
I only remember one special, horrible thing about Tinker. One day he got out of the house and was roaming the neighborhood. I actually don't blame him for roaming. The neighbors all knew him and spoiled him the way I'd treat Santa Claus if he wanted three cookies instead of two. That's the way things were in 1952 in a town of 12,000 people in Central Iowa. We watched out for each other be they man or beast. Well, Tinker didn't come home that night. The next day dad went to the police department and found out the news. According to the officers of the law my six month old puppy was deemed a dangerous animal by one of the officers(he happened to live in a home behind ours) so he shot him dead and put his body in under a tarp near a junkyard. End of story except, as a six year old I cried. My dad secured his remains and buried him in a flower garden behind our house even though the city officials threatened legal action for such a horrid action on our part. My dad was one of the first to use the words, "Go F yourself" when he was upset.
We never had another dog until 1966 when someone gave us an Irish Setter mix. Cocoa was a good dog but somewhat wild. As I think about it wild went well with our family. We had that guy until after I graduated high school and left for college. When I came home from school my sophomore year Cocoa was gone. I figured my folks didn't want the responsibility so they gave him away. Dad said he went to a farm in the nearby town of Ogden. My best bet is he really sent him to a Vet to have him euthanized. You'd have to understand my dad to know.
In 1992 our son was a sophomore in high school in Columbus Ohio. He was one of those silly animal lovers and one day he came home from school and told us a Dalmation and shown up at the front door of the school with a note: "Am an Ohio State Univ. student-can no longer care for this dog. Someone please take her." According to our son God talked to him and designated our family to adopt Daisy. We took her in and changed her name to Casey. I came to love Casey even though she had a wild streak. In 1994 Casey was not up to herself and was getting sick so we pampered her as much as possible. At the time I was an on the road salesman gone all week. One Friday I came home from a trip to Canada. No one was home so, being hungry I opened the refrigerator door and saw what I thought was leftover meatloaf. It was and still is my very favorite food. Anyway, I put a slab in the microwave and made myself two meatloaf sandwiches with cheese on top and ladled with catsup. It was scrumptuous.
Her Majesty came home about an hour after I'd eaten, opened the fridge door and asked, "Who ate Casey's dog food?" Know what? That meal was half Strongheart dog food and half beef but it's still one of the best meals I've consumed.
Casey continued to suffer with her health so The Queen took her to the Vet. The diagnosis was she had pancreatic cancer. For Dalamation's this is typical. Folks, I'm a sissy. We had to put her down but I made Her Majesty do it and at the same time I swore I'd never get another dog again and I meant it--------until Charlie came into our lives, once again via our son. His original name was Shorty but that's sort of a crappy name so we immediately changed it. He didn't seem to mind especially when we gave him treats. Charlie had two previous owners and I don't want to go into this but they weren't good guys. How he turned out to be such is treasure is magical. He's kind and loving and that's good enough for me.
I worry dearly about my boy. I can see him aging. He's very gray around his cheeks and he sleeps much more than in the past. This afternoon I was watching television and he wasn't by my side or even in the same room. I called his name and nothing happened so I got up and started looking for him and this is what I found.
When I say my heart was in my throat I'm more than serious. He didn't move one whit when I called his name. Luckily, my worst fears weren't realized when I used as a last resort my 'go to' words to make certain he's breathing. I said, "Charley, do you want a treat?" If you're a dog owner you know these are the magical words. I love it when my pal jumps around eagerly looking for a biscuit.
And once again I escaped the inevitable for one more day. Charlie makes my life worth living.
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