Charlie

A note to his owners:  Don’t worry, I was with him in the end

He came to me one chilly night in October. Reason cannot explain what compelled me to leave my husband and children and comfort of my home after an exhausting day to go into the dreary darkness, speeding down Chicago highways and into the unknown countryside of The Region to fetch a creature thrown out and unwanted by another human.   So unusual was this activity of an upstanding, responsible, “normal”  suburban mother of three young children, that I couldn’t even tell my closest friends what I was up to.  My husband understood.  Though he would never love these sad, broken, and unwanted creatures like I did, he loved me, and he supported my unconventional behavior.

 There I found myself, driving countless miles in the middle of the night, motherly duties finished, to go rescue one more dog.  A dog who would, no doubt, pee on my new furniture and take up my time and money at the vet.  A dog who would, in his confusion, try to escape the back yard looking for his previous owners.  Yes, no doubt this dog would be smelly, and he would require my time.  He’d probably wake me in the middle of the night, crying for his lost owners, lost in a dream of the past.  But he needed me, and in a way, I needed him.  

In the inky darkness, I pulled into an unknown driveway on an unknown street, in an insignificant little town.  Though I’d never laid eyes on the owner-a fellow dog rescuer- of the house, I knew her soul.  She was like me. No matter what her age or social status, her health or her looks, she was like me in a way more profound than the physical things of this world.  Like me, her soul could not, would not turn her back on the need.  Like me, she sacrificed her home and her time to give these sad creatures a chance.  A chance at comfort.  A chance at love.  And, like me, she was receiving more than she was giving, and she had the wisdom to know it.    And like us, numerous rescuers that day had coordinated and schemed, driven and sacrificed, to get this 20 pound ball of fur to his destination.  His second chance at life.  This activity was a quiet and undocumented revolt against betrayal, hopelessness, and an untimely death.

And there he was, sweet Charlie.  Sleek and shiny with soft intelligent eyes.  This was not a sad, broken dog.  But he was unwanted by his previous owners and the world at large.  He was middle aged, and seemingly full of life.  His confused excitement was evident.  Who knows what his thoughts were?  Yet, he seemed resigned to his fate, and he curled up in the heated seat next to me and snored loudly as we made our way back to the Chicago suburbs, to his new foster home.  My thoughts settled around contempt for his previous owners.   Who would dump a dog like him at the shelter?  Who were these irresponsible, selfish people?  How could they own a pet for 6 years and then just leave him in a cold cell, never to return?  Soon, I would come to understand them a little better.

Charlie fit into our family as a foster dog perfectly.  He did pee on my furniture, and he did get me up at night.  He did worry us with a seizure, but he recovered quickly.  He probably just needed a daily med, the vet said.  These were fairly common. 

Charlie  learned our routine quickly.  He loved to go on long walks around the neighborhood and to chase squirrels in the backyard with Zip.  He was so handsome that people pulled their cars over to get a better look.  3 different families made serious inquiries about how to adopt Charlie.  His future was bright.  His days were filled with delicious meals, soft beds, fires in the fireplace, and friendly companionship with the other dogs.  He loved my children, and savored the moments they sat down on the couch so he could cuddle with them.  In short, Charlie loved his life here, and his old owners seemed to be forgotten.  

Charlie is no longer with me.  He passed away on a beautiful sunny fall day.  He died  in my arms, wrapped in a blanket at the Emergency vet.  He died with one last characteristic Boston Terrier snort.  Unknown to us, Charlie was very sick.  His seizures were most likely caused by a brain tumor.  And, now, I think I understand his previous owners a little better.  

I like to think of them in light of this event -not as heartless abandoners, but as people who reached their limit and needed help.  Our rescue team helped them-not just Charlie.  This is where the human component comes into dog rescue. This is where my confused friends might understand.  Perhaps these people, these former owners,  loved Charlie with all their hearts. Maybe they let him sleep in their beds and go on car rides with them. Maybe Charlie was waiting for them every day when they came home from work.  Or, more likely to me,  he laid with them on the couch and shared in their depression and hopelessness because there was no workplace from which to come home. 

  I tell myself,  this news of his illness was more than his former owners could bear.  Maybe they didn’t have the strength to watch their beloved pet die.  Maybe they couldn’t afford the vet care Charlie would need.  So, in their desperation, they handed him over.  Maybe if they didn’t say a word to anyone about his illness, it would just go away.  Maybe a vet would rescue him and be able to fix his tumor.  Stop the seizures.  Stop their own pain, because they would never really know for sure.  

To his previous owners, it was in ignorant bliss that I got to know and love your dog.  He wasn’t sick to me, until the day he died.  We walked the neighborhood, played ball in the backyard, met potential adopters full of hope for the future.  Charlie slept surrounded by his foster pack in a thick warm bed, and woke to a table scrap laced breakfast every morning.  No one knew Charlie was sick, and so we didn’t treat him as if his life was ending, but only as if a new one was beginning.  And when his time finally did come suddenly, it was a shock.  Maybe it was better that way.  His last 4 weeks were not a countdown until the inevitable end, but they felt much more like a new beginning.  

And so, to his previous owners, I forgive you.  I understand you didn’t have the strength to watch him die.  You didn’t have the money to fix him.  It was a privilege to be the angel you and he both needed in the end.

Charlie’s end of life emergency care cost Midwest Boston Terrier Rescue over $800.  If you would like to contribute, please go to:  http://www.firstgiving.com/midwestbostonterrierrescue