Ever zigged when you should have zagged?

RIP Charles Peabody Boucher, 1996-2010

January 14, 2010 at 8:08 AM | Posted in Anna is my step-daughter., Bill is my husband., We have dogs., What's up? | 2 Comments
Tags: cherished member of the family, dog, euthanasia

Charlie came into my life as an old dog. I met him the same time I met Bill — on our first date, as Bill lifted him from the back of the Ford Explorer to put him on the ground at Eagle Creek Park — and got a glimpse of his willful charm that day when he simply ambled along at his own pace. Bill took a chance bringing Charlie to our first date because the dog didn’t take well to strangers but we got along just fine. I came to love him pretty quickly and he me, barking with excitement every time he saw me and lying with me on the floor as I petted him.

Charlie was 10 then and I wondered how much longer he would live. He was half Lab and half Chow, arthritic, and had Cushing’s disease. As time passed he seemed to lose some of his sight, most of his hearing, and maybe his wits at times. He hated to be brushed and bathed so, as a long-haired dog, he smelled worse as time went on. Did I mention that he was noxiously flatulent? None of this made me love him any less. One look into his warm brown eyes made me overlook it all.

Charlie came into Bill’s life as a puppy, a little black puffball. Bill has commented to me that he wishes I had a chance to know Charlie as a young dog — see him run out in the country, see him toss the snow with his nose, watch him romp in his healthy days — and I do too. Charlie had been part of most of Bill’s adult life, a steady presence through changing residences, jobs, and friendships.

Deciding to euthanize Charlie was a really hard decision for Bill. He wrestled with it for many, many weeks. Ultimately it was clear that there was no need to make him suffer a poor quality of life any longer. Most of the time Charlie couldn’t get up off the floor on his own, he needed to be carried in and out, he had trouble controlling his bowels, he was in discomfort (if not outright pain), and it seemed as if he was sporadically confused. It was tough to watch him struggle.

Bill spoke to Anna about the decision and asked if she wanted to be present for Charlie’s euthanasia. She didn’t think even being at our house when it happened was something she could handle, so we scheduled it on a day when she was with her mother. The soonest appointment we could get when we didn’t have Anna was a week away, which means we cried off and on for several days.

Charlie had many nicknames in our house: Chuckles, Chucky Cheese, Chuckleslovakia, Boutros Boutros-Charlie, Charles P. I often called him some version of Old Man or Stinky or Fat Boy when I scratched behind his ears or patted him on the belly and told him what a good dog he was. Sometimes we talked about how he looked like a black bear wandering around grazing on weeds in the backyard. These names will live on in the stories I know we will continue to tell about Charlie.

Remember how he always managed to lie right in the spot that would be the most inconvenient on the floor? It was like he could calculate right where you needed to walk. <smile>

Remember how he would always sniff at the bottom of the door when you were in the bathroom? I could hear him walking up and then the sound of his nose at the crack. <smile>

Remember how his hair used to blow around the house like dog fur tumbleweed? And get stuck on the frame of the screen door? And under every chair leg? He did look handsome with it blowing in the breeze, though. <smile>

Remember how he would start barking whenever Goocher would start barking at something, even though he didn’t know what they were barking at? <smile>

Remember how he would kick his legs in his sleep? Bill said that was the only time he got to run when he was old, in his dreams like that. <smile>

We’ll miss you, buddy.

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Special note — I’d like to thank my friend KT for being available to talk about Charlie when I needed a dog lover’s ear and advice. She listened to my concerns and gave her opinions and suggestions with care and insight. Her words and hugs have been so helpful and I am immensely appreciative.