You Were a Good Dog, Charlie Brown

Good-by…Charlie Brown Dog

As I reflect on saying “good-bye” to Charlie, I find a small patch of peace in the space between “too soon” and “too long”. The disease has done the work for me in assuaging the guilt I have felt while he was still feeling well despite the predetermined ending of this chapter of his life. Having let him go now relieves him of his discomfort and preserves memories of him mostly whole and healthy. To do otherwise, is unkind to a small creature who has cheerfully and unabashedly given loyalty and love beyond without guile or measure.

The young man I work with suggested I consider that my allotted time with Charlie is complete and that he will now be with Jim who has missed out on a shade over 9 years with him. It’s a comforting thought in a time of many tough ones to imagine the two bounding around the universe in search of adventures to share together.

This poem was found while looking for something to ease my heart on this last day of days.

The Power of the Dog
Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie–
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumor, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find–it’s your own affair
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will
When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone wherever it goes–for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear!

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long
So why in Heaven (before we are there!)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Rest In Peace, my loyal loving canine companion.

I will remember you with tears for the leaving and smiles for the years and the memories.

You were a good dog, Charlie Brown.

You will not be forgotten.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

The time has come… The little voice whispers “no more” as simple things become increasingly difficult for my furry friend.

Time in love and kindness before the every day life becomes unmanagable for him. Time before the memories are tainted by the relentless march of the demon within.

No more camping trips, sunset walks by the lake, wading in the stream or gingerly picking his way through snow left by the odd winter storm.

No more little brown dog snarfing the kitchen floor for snacks or sitting, chin on my knee, silently anticipating any stray crumb that might “fall” from my plate.

No backward glance out the front door each morning waiting for Handyman to follow so that business can be done.

No more warm fuzzy body curled by my bed when I get up in the dark or squirming his way onto my lap in a needy moment.

Surgery bought time…time to think, digest and accept…time to remember… time to make new memories to be held in the days ahead

. 

The beast has won.

Friday will be Charlie’s final trip to his vet-doc.

I will hold him as he passes from this world into whatever comes next. I will cry at the loss of him in my life.  And I will be grateful for the steadfast companionship of that rambunctious little brown creature that has been my friend, travel buddy, silent therapist and crying towel since Jim bought him for me for Valentine’s Day 14 years ago.

I will remember him with love.

Coorie Doon *

Fall, with its brilliant changling leaves and green apple sweet-tart crispness to the evening and pre-dawn air, brings a sense of “coorie doon” to my soul.  A settling in of the bones for a time when the nights are long, cold and best passed under the warmth of a soft comforter.  A time for reflection of days past and those to come.

As I watch my Charlie Dog, I know the dark moment will too soon arrive when I have to let him go…to send him out of my physical life. This cancer is a death sentence for him with the timing being unknown and unwillingly orchestrated by me. There is no reprieve…no miracle spontaneous cure…not even a remission. And, yet he eats, sleeps, runs the yard, lolls in the grass, begs for treats, snarfs the floor for abandoned morsels and for all the world looks to be a healthy older dog.  Inside the beast eats its way across his mouth and tongue.

I do not look inside. I know what lives there. It returned too quickly and viscously even after his very capable vet’s best to remove the festering beast.  Instead I clean the wound and attempt to exert some control over the incessant licking that is the only indication of the pain he feels. (The vet was called today for meds…I am unwilling let him go yet.) I take him camping where he enjoys the new scents and attention paid by people unable to guess his breed (Boykin Spaniel).

Unaware of the monster within, Charlie is full of life. He is a cheerful dog…much like the stereotypical drunken Irishman with that ear-to-ear grin and bubbly boyish charm. He bounds up the steps, wiggles from head to toe when I come home, oft times getting so excited he has to bark to release the energy, and begs unashamedly for any crumb I am willing to drop or hand him. 

Charlie’s unabashed enjoyment of rolling in the grass…and thereby attaching any loose flotsam from the yard to his curly fur…makes me laugh. I have a vivid memory of him, staples still attached from back surgery, flipping over in the grass, rolling and twisting with what appeared to me to be a look of pure bliss. He is the first dog I’ve owned to exhibit this behavior; having seen it before only from horses in their pastures.

Charlie brings me joy and I will miss that and selfishly cling to his life for just a while longer.

In the end, I will have to do what is best for my four-legged, furry friend and companion of the last 14 years.

I just can’t do it today.

Today, I will coorie doon with him in the old feather comforter he loves, rub his curly head and remember days spent in the sun. I don't know what he thinks...I just hope he knows he's loved.

*Scot’s for snuggle down.