Little Charlotte

george-charlotte

Taking a break in the shade with Charlotte during a neighborhood walk on a hot afternoon.

While Lori spends another couple days in the Midwest with our granddaughter, I’m getting lots of one-on-one time with Charlotte, our little rescue dog.

If yet another blog post about our sweet-but-sassy border terrier mix prompts an eyeroll, so be it.

I used to be a cat person for a long time, appreciative of their independence and their impeccable grooming, but it’s safe to say I’ve done a 180. Why? I think it’s because it’s dawned on me that a dog’s unabashed affection and loyalty are wonderful qualities, not to be taken for granted.

I think I appreciate those qualities — and Charlotte’s spirited personality — even more because they are such a respite from the daily rat race and toxic political environment that we find ourselves in. Charlotte is tail-wagging happy when she wakes up in the morning; run-around-the-house excited when I come home from teaching in the middle of the day; and still plenty playful when I return again in the late afternoon.

It’s enough to make a grown man want to give that love back to an animal who’s won my heart in a way no dog before her has. Her elegant, royal name is such a contrast to her terrier-pug features, highlighted by an underbite and a tuft of unruly whiskers beneath her chin.

***

Lori ‘s been in Missouri since Thursday, visiting with our son Jordan and daughter-in-law Jamie so she can be there for Emalyn’s first birthday. She comes home tomorrow night and I know Charlotte will be beside herself when Lori walks in the door.

We’ve been holding down the fort in the meantime. (Mabel doesn’t lift a paw, but that’s the nature of a cat.)

Saturday was an especially nice day.

— I took Charlotte to Normandale Park in Northeast Portland, thinking she might like spending time in the enclosed small-dog park there. Before we even got near, a scruffy little dog, even smaller than Charlotte, came scampering across the lawn toward us. Instant friends.

The two dogs romped around, chasing each other in tight circles, as if they’d known each other a long time. It was gratifying to see inasmuch as the last time I took Charlotte to a dog park was that day in November when two big dogs, off-leash, came charging after her and bit me instead. This outing was a contrast in every way. Plus, Charlie’s owners were awfully nice.

— That afternoon, I took Charlotte to the pet supplies store near our home. I’d been told the day before that there was going to be a little party with special treats for the furry ones.

Turned out the sales clerk was off by a week. But she offered to fetch a frozen doggie treat for Charlotte — a dogsicle made from fermented goat milk and blueberries. Charlotte’s become a regular there at Pet Pros. She’s gotten to know the help and now goes behind the counter, where she knows she’ll get a cookie or two. She sits and takes it from the hand, something she never would have done before. Ordinarily, she barks aggressively at most other dogs and defensively at humans she doesn’t know, so this behavior is nice to see.

After dinner the TV comes on, and Charlotte settles onto my lap and stretches out toward the screen. Soon enough she’s snoozing. The thought that she was picked up as a stray running the streets makes me sad, but also happy that we can provide her with a warm, stable home.

— Finally, Charlotte joins me on a nighttime walk. Memories of when we first got her come flooding back. Many a night I’d walk her in the middle of the night, enjoying the lack of distractions while our neighbors slept.

As we get ready to call it a night, I pick her up like a football and head up the stairs. My left hand cups her chest and I can feel the rhythmic beating of her heart. And that sensory connection makes me feel all the more attached to her.

 

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