Last night, the very talented Lee Hovland published a story she had written long ago about a dog we had when we were growing up. That very same woman might tell you that the greatest dog to ever live was Georgia. Some people would say Rin-tin-tin, Lassie, or Old Yeller-and they'd all be wrong. The greatest to ever live was Charlie. I don't remember any special tricks, but she could work magic. She'd listen to me tell her how mean my brother could be or how awful green peas really are or maybe even listen to how unfairly I had to sit in the corner until Dad got home. She'd sit there and listen as I scratched her ears and somehow everything would get better. She never griped about not playing fetch or ball and she understood how important it was to keep rabbits out of the garden. She never got tired of following kids around and mom knew we were near because the dog was near. Every where we went, Charlie followed. The school principal was not a fan of Charlie's. Come to think of it, the people at the grocery store didn't like her too much either, but you'd be really hard pressed to find a kid that didn't like her. I remember being shocked when someone told me you shouldn't mess with puppies while they were very young because it might upset the mother and she might bite. Apparently, Charlie never got that memo. On one occasion, I handled the puppies as soon as she cleaned them to count how many girls versus boys. She never growled, never bit, and it took me a long time to discover that she did have a mean bone in her body. She hated possums and coons. Cats were tolerated, as long as Charlie got to eat first. I can't tell you how many hours I spent scratching behind her ears. She was short and maybe a little chunky. Often when she nursed the puppies, she had green teats. She was lemon and white. I know when we got her, Daddy asked what did I want to name her and I told him Charlie. I think he was glad it wasn't something like princess or duchess which was so popular at that time. Mom was a little more curious and asked how I can up with that name. One of Dad's friends was a guy named "Charlie" and he was a little on the chunky side just like that puppy. Mom laughed and kept laughing every time she called the puppy. I don't remember which one of us really grew up faster-me or that puppy, but I know she was the first real love I had for someone that wasn't blood kin. I'm not foolish enough to believe that "All" dogs go to heaven, but I know that one did. Small comfort to a twelve year old kid. I think my heart broke into a million pieces when she left earth. For a long, long time I never let myself think about her or getting close to a dog again because the pain was just too great. Yeah, I know she was a dog and dogs don't live forever, but she was my first friend and the first loved one to ever leave so that first pain was deep. She's been gone 35 years now. I can still hear her bark and feel the scar in her side from a "coon" fight. My hands remember the feel of her fur.
Wish me luck. I am in search of a picture of Charlie. This may take a while.
