Charley and Me—A True Story
As my Father liked to say, “I have a cute story for you…”
Being that my last story didn’t have quite the effect I’d intended, I thought I’d switch gears and share a more G-rated story with you this week.
It begins last year, with a late-night phone call from my best friend, Juan. Without much preamble, he asked me what I was doing for the weekend, which was his sneaky way of finding out if he could hit me up for a favor. Too tired to come up with a lie, I admitted that I had no plans, at which time he asked if I would mind watching one of his three little dogs.
Internally, I groaned. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was spend a sunny weekend babysitting some mutt. When I asked why he couldn’t stay with whoever was watching his other two dogs, he explained that he didn’t want to overwhelm his other sitter with three dogs and that the one he wanted me to watch didn’t really get along with the other two. Then Juan played the guilt card by saying he was in a real bind because he was going out of town with his wife and couldn’t find anyone else.
I clenched my teeth to the point of almost cracking a molar. I initially said no, but Juan has these sad, puppy-dog-eyes that tug at your heartstrings. After picturing them in my mind and listening to him plead for ten minutes, I reluctantly said yes.
A day later, Juan and his wife, Alicia, showed up at my house with a black and brown little dog that had walnut-colored eyes and the biggest pair of ears this side of a goblin. He looked like he should be counting change at Gringotts bank in Diagon Alley.
Cowering between Alicia’s legs, they introduced him as Charley. He was shaking a little bit, so I reached out and let him sniff my hand. When he licked my finger, I thought it was okay to pick him up, but he yelped in fear. Alicia explained that he was shy, so I put him down.
Juan explained that he was driving back from a business trip when he saw Charley by the side of the road, stumbling and injured. He had one eye all puffed up and bruised, and one leg hurt. He took him to a local shelter, where they tended to the dog’s injuries. A few weeks later, the shelter called him to say that they couldn’t keep him as they were a kill shelter and couldn’t find a permanent home.
So Juan told them that he didn’t save him just so that they could turn around and kill him, so he said he would foster him until he found someone.
When I asked why Charley couldn’t stay with their other two dogs, Alicia said it was because the other dogs didn’t like him and bullied him because he wouldn’t submit to Daisy, the alpha of their house. “Great,” I thought, “I get the dog with issues.”
So Juan and Alicia left for the airport, and I was left with a little crying dog. As I carried him to my room, I stroked him and told Charley not to worry, they’d be back. Not that he listened. He probably felt as though he were being abandoned again.
I watched him sit on my bed, sulking at being left behind. Not knowing what else to do, I talked to him, doing what I do best, cracking jokes. Pointing to his ears, I quipped, “So, you get satellite radio on those things?” Nothing. Not much for humor, it seemed. But he stopped crying, at least.
I looked him over. He was the weirdest little creature I’d ever seen. My first thought was that his mother must have been mounted by a gremlin. Dumbo would’ve been like, “Damn, boy! And I thought I had big ears!”
Feeling sorry for him, I rubbed his belly and gave him a doggie massage. He loved it. The next thing I knew, he had stopped crying and started following me everywhere I went. We stayed at my house for the next couple of days, apparently bonding. He explored my house and ran around my backyard. I fed him treats and a few bites of human food. I took tons of pictures and sent them to Alicia. I wanted her to know that Charley was in good hands.
On the third day, not knowing else to do, I found a local dog park online and decided to take Charley. When I messaged Alicia to let her know, she explained that it might not be a good idea because Charley was anti-social. I reasoned, well, so am I, so he’s in good company.
When we got there, it was pretty dead, so Charley sniffed around and had fun marking his territory. After that, he jumped on my lap and stayed there. He wasn’t much for playing fetch. As dogs go, I’ve found that he’s something of a lounge lizard.
He socialized with some of the other dogs as they showed, sniffing butts and peeing over their pee. Personally, I don’t get it, but then again, I’m not a pooch. I was mostly scoping out the girls. I guess Charley must have noticed because he sidled up to this hottie I was chatting with and nuzzled her to pet him. She thought it was cute right up to the point where he lifted his right leg and tried to mark her.
Horrified, I shouted, “CHARLEY, NO!” I moved quickly before he could rip more than a drop on her boot. I apologized profusely to the girl, but she laughed it off. Embarrassed, we left the park. Walking to my car, I told Charley, “While I appreciate the effort, we do it a little different in the human world, bub. My species flirts. If it was just a matter of pissing on a girl I like, I’d never zip my fly!” Charley winked his eyes and nodded his head in acknowledgment.
Later that day, as he was tearing through the backyard, Charley had a freshly killed bird in his mouth that he laid at my feet. Panicking, I swept him up in my arms, put him on the bathroom counter, and cleaned his muzzle. I didn’t want him to get sick. Curious as to why he would do that, I googled, “what does it mean when a dog gives me a dead animal?” Turns out, it’s a dog’s way of telling you you’re his chosen master, or pack leader.
My heart melted a little more. Over the course of a few days, I didn’t want to admit that I’d fallen in love with the little creep. A part of me didn’t want to give him up. So it was a surprise when Juan came back and asked me if I wanted to keep him. I know Charley wanted to stay; he barked and growled at Juan when he showed up at the door as if he wanted to say, “I’ve got a good thing here! You’re not taking me back!”
So when Juan made the offer, I turned him down again. Not because I didn’t want Charley, because I didn’t think I had room in my life for a dog. It broke my heart to say goodbye. Juan twisted the knife a little more by texting me a picture of Charley looking out the window of Juan’s truck, not wanting to leave.
I got a call from Alicia a few hours later, trying to convince me to take him. I still said no. Speaking to my Mom about it, she said it was just stupid for me to turn Charley away when I had grown so attached to him. So I called Alicia back and screamed, “GIMME MY DOGGIE BACK!” So a week later, he came home, for good.
Yeah, I didn’t think I wanted a dog, but Charley isn’t just any old mutt. He’s special. If you met him, you’d know it at first glance. He’d pretty much have to be to be my pet, the little stinker. By the way, he also does celebrity impressions. He does a great Clint Eastwood and James Bond.
When I got him back, I considered changing his name but figured he had already gotten used to the name ‘Charley’, so I kept it. But I added the middle name ‘Brewster’ in honor of the character in my favorite horror film, FRIGHT NIGHT. Besides, it gave me a reason to say the line, “Oh you’re so cool, Brewster!” whenever I pet him. He loves it.
I don’t think of him so much as a pet as I do my sidekick and my best friend. You might not believe it, but he does comprehend a lot of what I say. He’s very protective of me- since I came out of the hospital, he hasn’t left my side. He actually spots me when I exercise.
If there’s one downside to Charley, it’s in his taste in music. I love rock; he’s more of an easy listening kinda guy. I found this out recently when I started singing “The Pina Colada Song” as a joke and noticed how he mellowed out to it. Weird, right?
I never thought I’d love a dog as much as I do Charley. As I like to tell him, “You’re a great listener, but a shitty conversationalist!” But despite those shortcomings, he’s a great wingman and straight man. He may not have much in the way of a sense of humor, but I know he’s laughing on the inside.
Thank you everyone, Aunt Teresa, Mike. You may get your wish- I have tons of funny stories of Charley, some of which I wanted to include but didn’t have room for. Maybe next week.
I just love Charley and you (more of course)- Wonderful story, Greggie. Please write more of these – they make me so happy and so proud of you. Love you, Aunt Teresa
I would love to see him write more of these, and it’s nice to meet his Aunt Teresa 🙂
Happy Greg Happy Charley.
Very good Greg. I think having Charley will ease your days of rehab. I don’t know how but they just do that.
What a marvelous tale of an occasional grumpy man, and a terrified, injured dog, who that man saved; he and his friend Juan, and with Alice’s help of course. You made me smile today Mr. Gonzalez, and I’m a grumpy man all the time, so that isn’t easy to do. Again, thank you for sprinkling these pages with love.
Well dogs make us all better people because they are better people, even if they do doggy things like tactical peeing or hiding a moldy, soggy piece of bone in my favorite boat shoe.
It’s very difficult for me, but although I will fight to the death before changing my opinion that Trump support isn’t the moral equivalent of evil in general and treason specifically – te absolvo – but only because of the dog.
This makes me so happy for you and for that little rescued pooch Greg. He’ll help with your recovery too because walks don’t wait for anyone 🙂
I absolutely love this story of you and little Charley. I have four dogs and love each of them for their own individual personalities. They make me happy, in the face of all the aridity and disenchantment.