I first sensed something was wrong 10 days ago, on a Wednesday, one week out from my flight to Newark. It was a rather average day, typical of my September, with a doctor’s appointment or two in the morning and the afternoon free. I came home for lunch and to continue booking hotels in Scotland. Suddenly, Charlie threw up, which wasn’t necessarily unusual, but when he started shaking, my bones knew we were in trouble.
***
I found Charlie in February 2023. Or maybe he found me. Going into the office and getting on airplanes had once again become my norm as life readjusted in the Fall of 2022. My dog Trixie, always anxious, now became frantic whenever I walked out of the front door. I told my sister half-seriously that I was thinking about looking for a second dog so Trixie wouldn’t have to be alone.
***
My sister sent me a few emails with links to the sweetest-looking dogs over the coming weeks. One we decided was a scam, maybe from a puppy mill. Others were too young. I was in the depths of chronic illness, after all, and could not match a puppy’s energy. But after seeing those little faces, I went from half-serious to serious, and started looking myself.
***
Charlie was in Nashville, a few hours’ drive away, not terrible, and the adoption agency told me he was a sweet 8-year old boy, a pure-bred mini-poodle, silver-gray and in need of a haircut. “A good age match,” I thought, given that Trixie was maybe 10 at the time. I found out more: he was likely a pandemic dog, adopted when everyone was at home, but returned like bad mail when work-from-home policies were reversed. He had maybe been there another time, much earlier: they had old records for him but they were incomplete, so the agency couldn’t say for sure. He was part-blind, part-deaf, and had been treated for heartworms. He was having a hard time in foster care and was really scared. I got the sense he had had a hard life, been passed around a lot, probably not - almost certainly not - fully loved. It was then I knew I wanted him. It was Valentine’s Day, after all.
***
Common consensus is that Trixie found me through magic. My parents lived 10 miles outside town in the plains of Wyoming, probably a good mile or two even from the highway. It was a wind-swept, barren place, even at the height of summer, but this was December, and it was calling for snow. On Christmas Eve, at breakfast, a stray peeked around the corner of the house shyly, wispy-gray against the white, then disappeared.
***
We found her huddled near the condenser unit, wisely sitting near the exhaust fan to stay warm. My sister delicately looped a leash around her and brought her inside. Trixie claimed me from the start. We still speculate how she made it that far, through the cold and the coyotes, a tiny 10-pound dog so undernourished she was missing most her fur, with bruises on her soft belly. Maybe she was abandoned on the side of I-70. Maybe Santa brought her. But after seeing her bark down a black bear in August, I now know a coyote wouldn’t stand a chance.
***
It takes a while to piece together the history of a dog. Trixie can eat anything and not get sick - she has a thing for expensive chocolate - and she is a protective of me with strangers, but always friendly to the unhoused. I have a hunch she used to live on the streets and developed an iron stomach from eating out of trash cans. For Charlie, I imagine he was an outside dog because I quickly found out he had never been potty-trained, even at his age, and whenever he entered the house from the yard, he bounced around with a surprised joy so pure it lit my heart and broke it at the same time.
***
“There’s no way he’s 8 years old,” my home vet told me, shortly after adopting him. “He’s probably 14, and he’s not a pure-bred mini-poodle either.” The vet continued: “He likely had continuous ear infections at his last home because of the level of scarring,” she said. I looked at my gentle boy and wondered: what the hell is wrong with people.
***
It took me longer than I care to admit, to adjust to a mostly blind and deaf dog. There is almost no information online for dogs with a double disability. What works for a blind dog doesn’t work for a deaf dog, and vice versa. So I made it up. And Charlie was a kind and patient teacher. I learned to be his eyes on walks, and to keep clutter off the floor. I learned to use a harness with a handle to help guide him. Mostly, I learned new depths of patience, of empathy, of love. I started out thinking I was helping Charlie, but he was really helping me.
***
Trixie and Charlie became best buds. Trixie is sassy and independent, and she liked to pretend she didn’t need Charlie around. But she stopped being anxious when I left the house, and when he was napping, she would sneak into the dogbed for cuddles, and I couldn’t tell where one gray dog ended and the other gray dog began.
***
Over the last 10 days, Charlie suddenly and rapidly declined. I canceled the first part of my trip and gave him everything I had to give. He fought hard: he got worse and then better three separate times, though never fully recovering each time. Sadly, he lost significant quality of life, and I had to make that terrible decision that tears your guts out while simultaneously calling into question every decision you ever made for your dog. He went peacefully on Friday, as my hands cupped his face.
***
The night before, Charlie and I watched his last sunset from the deck. The clouds turned the color of ripe watermelon then bright tangerine as the sun sank. A lone bat flew overhead, our only witness. I never in my life wanted time to stop as much as in that moment, watching the light fade in an obvious and abhorrent metaphor. Yet time passed. And passed still. And soon it was dark.
***
Trixie and I miss him so much, our happy bouncy gentle friend. The house is too quiet, and I keep seeing him out of the corner of my eye. The grief shows as shifting pain in my body, from my hip to my teeth to my diaphragm. He was only in our lives for a year and a half, far too short - although one can say that about time with any dog. But I remember the sunset lesson: that time passes. And it passes still. And the grief will become less sharp, and Trixie will settle. And someday I too will follow. And in the between, when I see the sun setting, I will think of my sweet valentine, Charlie, who lived what love truly is.
If you feel called to honor Charlie’s memory, please consider helping the animals impacted by Hurricane Helene:
Consider donating funds to bigger organizations leading on-the-ground response efforts, such as to the US Humane Society emergency fund or the International Federation of Animal Welfare
Here is a list of local shelters around the US where you can donate, as well as foster or adopt displaced animals
Consider joining chains of drivers to move animals out of areas where shelters are overflowing
If you are local to the impacted areas and are able to do so safely, consider donating dog and cat food, water, clean bedding, and extra medicine (call the shelter to see what they need most)
This is beautifully written. Now I'm over here balling.