Five or six years ago, Fourth of July weekend, we had a really big storm. The power was out for three or four days. The morning after the storm, a Golden Retriever came trotting up our driveway. He had an invisible fence collar on. He showed no intention of leaving. He stayed with us for nearly a week while we tried in vain to find his people. Finally, a couple who had been dogsitting him came driving up calling “Charlie! Charlie!” He left with them and we went about our business.
Two weeks later Charlie was back. The dogsitting couple had not left us their names or locations, nor did they tell us where Charlie lived. We tried again to find his people, to no avail. And no one ever came looking for him again. Charlie was ours. And for the next few years he was a faithful companion to the Mister and to Miss W. He did have a tendency to wander off for adventure, but he always came back late that night or the next day. He was happy and he made us happy.
Charlie was a damn fine dog.
We lost Charlie this past Saturday to lymphoma. He went peacefully in his sleep. We’re very sad. But he’s buried with his old friend Coco, who died a little over a year ago. He has his favorite duck, and a stick for chewing. And we know he’s still looking over us, like all damn fine dogs do.