My Charlie Boy

Sometimes I wonder if I love my dog so much simply because he's so damn cute.

Nah, I'd love him anyway. Here's the story of how he came to be my wonderful canine companion.

I love dogs. Always have. I've wanted a dog for a very long time, but renting in Santa Barbara puts you under the control of a landlord. I've never lived (until now) where I could have a dog. I got my doggie fix from my friend Deborah's dog Rio, or from my sister's dog, Indy, but it wasn't the same.

For five years I lived in an apartment complex which was pleasant (at least at first), but kept trying to find a place that would allow pets. As the building became peopled with more young mothers, and college students, rather than the mostly retired folks who were there when I first moved it, I was ansty to get out. Nope. I was going to hold out for a pet friendly place.

It finally happened. The property management company knew I was looking, and told me about a place that might be what I was looking for. They "managed" the place, even though my landlady lives here, because her job takes her away for 5-6 weeks at a time. I went, fell in love with the little cottage, and met Mrs. P. She approved, told me I could have a dog, and that was that.

I went to the County shelter the next day. I didn't adopt Charlie that day though, I became a volunteer instead. I wanted to make sure I got the right dog for me, and I really wanted a Beagle. I did all kinds of research on the internet, took all kinds of online quizzes to see which breed would be best for my situation... and Beagle was on the list. Not at the top though, that was a French Bull Dog.

Purebreds are not for me, however. I knew I'd be getting a shelter dog, not paying hundreds or even thousands of dollars when there are so many dogs out there needing a home already. Unless someone is showing a dog in shows (which is rather silly), I think it's ridiculous to spend that kind of money on a special "breed."

So, I moved, volunteered at the shelter, and one day, Charlie came in. Tina, the head of the volunteers said that he had been taken by animal control from the home he had been in. There had been some kind of crime at the home; when the police came to investigate that, they saw Charlie as well. They called animal services, and the owners no longer had possession of the little dog.

When he came in, he was covered in sores. He doesn't shed, and they hadn't cut his hair, so it was matted and dirty. That is, where he hadn't chewed through to his skin. He had flea bites all over his body, and raw places where he had been scratching. He had a staph infection as well that caused scabbing. Turns out he has a severe allergy to fleas, and he hadn' t been given any protection against them.

He had been cleaned up some by the time I first saw him, but he was still raggedy when Tina asked me to just sit with him and help "socialize" him. I think Tina had a plan all along. Charlie wouldn't even look at me that first day. He wouldn't come close, he wouldn't take food from me... he just kept his distance. Finally, after about 30 minutes, he took a cookie off my knee (I was sitting on the ground with him).

So, this pathetic, skittish, mangy looking animal? I fell in love. I had to take him home.

Wait, not so soon. The shelter wanted to make sure he was healthy first, and he had to be neutered, and volunteers had to wait at least 4 weeks before adopting any dog. So, I kept coming in, and working with the dogs, and kept falling more and more for this little guy. He loved all the other dogs, and slowly started coming out of his shell. I couldn't learn much more about his life before the shelter, but Tina said she thought he'd been basically tied to a tree in the yard for the first three years of his life.

Finally the day came, and I took him home. It happened to be Halloween. He was one scared little puppy. He sat as far away from me as he could and still keep an eye on me (yes, he would look at me now). I stayed home that night, hoping I did the right thing, instead of going to my friend's party.

Here it is, close to two years later, and I have the most perfect dog for me in the world. He snuggles up to me at night, and makes me laugh. He forces me to get outside of myself and my thoughts. When I see him running at the beach, the happiness he exudes (or that I project on to him) is infectious. Every time I come home and he jumps on me, "Hey, you came back again!" I know there is another living being in the world that loves me unconditionally, warts and all.

Not that I have warts. It's just an expression. Not that warts are a bad thing. Well, they are a bad thing, but not that warts are a horrible thing. Compound W takes them away. I digress.

A few years ago I was on several medications for clinical depression. I took sleeping pills,and two different anti-depressants and an anti-anxiety one too. If Charlie had been in my life then, I think it might have been unnecessary.

I know it's unnecessary now.