4 cats, 2 dogs, and 2 humans

 We lost my dog, Charlie, yesterday.  Even though we helped him cross the rainbow bridge - I am broken.  Charlie was the best dog ever, my sunshine, and my lovebug.  He was a 15-year-old black lab -- I was fortunate to have him in my life for so long, and I know I made the right choice - he was suffering with arthritis and barely able to walk the last few days of his life.  Mark and I were coaxing him outside on trips to relieve himself with treats -- he was walking only a few steps at a time.

It's always a surprise to lose someone you love, because the void is cavernous, and this loss has hit me particularly hard.  Charlie was a sweet, goofy black lab.  As labs go, he was a pretty typical maniac until he was about 5.  As he matured, he became an excellent companion who went on many car rides with me.

Charlie, like his namesake, my grandpa Charlie, took his time with everything but food.  My Grandpa was always so cool and calm because he'd been a POW in WWII.  He said that he taught you something about patience.  My Charie loved to swim in the pool, and genuinely did his job as a lab by greeting everyone he met and making them feel welcome and loved. 

I bought Charlie from a pet store -- something you can't even do in Illinois any longer, by the way.  According to the newspapers, the pets in the pet store all came from "puppy mills." My sister would often visit the pet store and look at the puppies whenever she felt sad.  I never did that because I was certain I would come home with a puppy.  Which I did -- both times Angela took me to visit puppies.  I have no self-control.

Charlie was a real bargain - he was actually getting a little old for the pet store, so they had marked him down from $600 to $300 and threw in food, a kennel, a few toys, a bowl, and a collar and leash - not to mention a complimentary vet visit.   And Charlie had genuine AKC papers.  I never paid the money to register him, but still, he had those papers. 

From the get-go, it was clear that Charlie was a lover, not a fighter, and he had almost webbed feet -- so I started him swimming quickly.  But oh my gosh, his paws were enormous.  At his prime, so say around 7 or 8, he was about 80 pounds and 26" tall.  He was a really beautiful boy.  

And I miss him more than I ever thought possible.  When I said he was my constant companion, I wasn't kidding.  When he was a pup, he would happily ride in the backseat of the car with me, even on the most ridiculous of errands.  After we moved in to my dad's house to help him out after surgery, he followed me from room to room all through the day and night, if he wasn't sleeping to soundly.

He laid directly to my side or under my feet always.   During COVID, when I worked from the loft of my townhouse for 2 months, Charlie was my only companion -- even Mark didn't dare come in the house unless it was to take Charlie for a walk.  

After Angela died, Charlie laid on the couch with me, and forced me to get up and go outside and move, and think about someone other than myself.  He slept on the couch with me for the several months I didn't feel safe upstairs, and didn't judge me ever.

He was a swimming fool until his back and legs made it too hard to go up and down the steps in the pool.  He slept in my bed until he couldn't climb the stairs in my townhouse any longer.  

He chased a ball like nothing you ever saw - and attached himself to the strangest things to carry around the house.  It was normal for him to greet people at the door with a throw pillow, ball, or a toy -- but now and again he grabbed something hilarious -- like a pair of shoes, a package from UPS, or an entire bag of groceries.

He was terrible sometimes - counter surfing for anything to entertain him -- especially the stray piece of toast, stick of butter, or baked good.  He was a tricky one - he'd use stealth and sneak into the kitchen and grab the desired item from the counter only to sprint away (usually up the stairs) with it.

At my Dad's house, this was a much more interesting game for him, which is why it's important to note that he was counter surfing and scored a bag of homemade doggy treats from the counter, which the three dogs demolished, part of the bag included, until a few weeks before he died.

It's been a rough few weeks for me -- although this is dated 7/31, here I sit finishing what I started writing two weeks later. 

Not suprisingly the lonliness hit me, and then the grief and depression set in.  I have another dog, Timmy, who is amazing, but he is not a silly goofball - he was a rescue that Charlie and I had to teach how to play.  

I think the fog of depression is starting to lift.  The pain, the loneliness, the apathy come and go like fluffy thunderheads.  

And there was a moment a few days ago in the morning, I actually woke up and was kinda happy.  Even without Charlie.