I'll Blow Out Your Candles For You

*There are a few videos imbedded below.  If you want to see them you'll have to read this on an android or iMac.  iPhones and iPads don't have Flash.  This will be my last blog on google for this reason.

You passed away less than month ago and I've been aiming for your birthday, today, what would have been your 14th, as my target date to get through this, and post it.  I have a very strong sense that I'm going to have doubts after I click the "publish" button.  Maybe because it can't possibly come close to covering everything that you were and still are to me.  Maybe because once it's published (posted?) it's real.  Really real.  This awful and surreal thing that I suppose turns out to be your eulogy, with picture and video clip aids to fill in the gaps, will become real.  Ugh.  This sucks, Charly.  It hurts my fingers to type this.  But maybe it helps me too.

You came to me on a night when I thought I was going to see a movie, but instead returned home an hour later with you. You spent the preceding days in a crate, on a truck, headed west from Nebraska to the Beverly Center pet store, and a fate you didn't know. Not one night did you spend in that pet store.  By some collection of magic or alignment of the stars your first night in California was spent in my home.  And don’t worry, you will be the first and last dog I ever buy from a pet store.  And how I’ll always look at my purchase that night in April of 2000 is that I rescued you from that place – and then you spent the rest of your life rescuing me. 

I didn't know how to raise a pup.  I hadn’t ever done it before.  But just like our human children, you taught me how to raise you. That first morning I woke up extra early and came downstairs to my laundry room (which became your room for a little while) and saw you peacefully chewing on the fake rubber stick I bought from the store.  Not a peep.  When your eyes caught mine your tail began to wag, and didn’t really stop wagging until your arthritis made it hurt too much at the end.  

The only time I can ever remember your doing anything close to “wrong” was when I was out of the house for a bit longer than you were comfortable with, and you tore up your bed out of sheer boredom.  I can't and never will imagine you being angry, so, yeah, I'm going with boredom.

Oh, you also swallowed a whole living bird that mistakenly flew through an open door into our house, and on the way out smacked into a picture window and dropped to the floor.  I raced you to the injured bird, but you won. And by the time I'd reached you, tail feathers were all I saw through your clenched lips.  But hey, I can’t fault you for that. Who doesn’t like a little Finch from time to time?

You were with me through a nasty break up, then we were bachelors together for a brief time.  And from the moment you met Laura you didn’t let her out of your sight.  Of course it helped that the first time she walked into our house she had a shiny blinking red bouncy ball, all for you, and that she looked gorgeous and smelled better than I ever had by a long stretch.  It didn’t take long at all before I felt not just your approval, but your command that I not let her go.  Your mom had arrived (and here’s a not-so-secret-secret:  I wouldn’t have let her go anyway).

We had so much fun didn’t we?  We swam.  We hiked.  I threw the ball as far as I could up the steepest of hills and you charged straight up, without hesitation.  You'd always stop for a quick moment on the way back down.  Staring at me with that grin of yours, wondering if this would be the last go, or if I had it in me to throw the ball back up. Sometimes I wonder if all of that fun we had contributed to your arthritis at the end, but I realize it’s not fair to do that to myself.  Even so, what’s the point of being young if you can’t enjoy all that youth has to offer, right?  In moderation of course.

We also had the best beach day in the history of beach days.

We drove along side of you in the golf cart that night in Palm Desert.  You galloped the length of the fairways, after all the collared shirts and pleated pants had gone home, but there was still just enough light left for us.  That was when you went off to sniff all of the wonders that the desert had to offer, and we didn’t bother calling you back. Just letting you go enjoy.  Not easy for me to do. And suddenly there was a water hazard between you and us, and we had one of our stare downs.  Don’t do it, Charly.  Don’t do it!  As soon as the thought turned to words bellowing out of my lungs, you charged into the water, and swam straight across that lake.  Laura and I laughed as hard as we ever had together. If that wasn’t a snapshot of pure joy, then I just don’t know what is.  One of the best memories we ever shared.  What I would give to be transported back to that moment.

And remember the time Kobe hit that buzzer beater (back in the Smush Parker days, a low point in our fandom) and we danced around the living room as if I had just won $500?  How many hours did we spend watching football and basketball games together?  Countless.

You proposed to Laura for me on one of our hikes, and you trotted our wedding rings to the chuppah when we were married.  Sprinted is more like it, basically dragging Natan down the aisle. And after your job was done, you lied down right beside me, then got comfortable on the train of Laura’s dress for the duration of the ceremony, while we made it official.  

Sophie arrived the summer after we were married and you sat outside, shaking in protest, for three days.  Then you started playing and swimming together and she wasn’t half bad was she? 

Then she became your sister.

And partner.

Then surprisingly she grew taller and stronger than you.

And one day when you were at the park a chippy, overly aggressive dog got too close to you.  And that's when we heard the thunder of Sophie's horse hoofs, and saw a black flash as she came barreling out of nowhere, body slamming that poor fool of a dog clear out of your way.  Never seen anything like it, and you never doubted who had your back from that point on.  

You helped rehabilitate people at the hospital who had gone through catastrophic, life changing events.  

I never once worried that you would do anything other than be exactly what was required to help.  I had utter confidence in you and I placed your leash between the hands of shaky patients and the grips of their walkers.  I watched as you gently helped them take steps again, slowly leading them as they made their way down the hallway.  You had zero training in this capacity, but were perfect for the job. It was just in you.

Your entrance to any room, hospital or otherwise, was a guaranteed ray of light for whoever was fortunate enough to be on the other side of the door.  And one day I got to be the recipient of your hospital charm.  Still is the best surprise present Laura has ever given me.

I soon realized that you became as much a therapy dog for the doctors and nurses, as you were for the patients.  And I’ll never forget how it made me feel.  How proud I was to have you with me in that hospital. It took us a half an hour to make our way from the parking lot to the rehab rooms on the 7^th floor, because everyone had to stop and say hi to you.  And boy you soaked it all up, didn’t you?  Completely mobbed by everyone.  “CHARLY’S HERE! CHARLY’S HERE!” 

You slept in Morgan’s room, on the floor by her crib, every day starting a month prior to her birth.  Waiting for your next assignment:  Guardian for our children. 

I watched as Morgan, then Emerson climbed over you, poked your eyes with wayward fingers, and kissed you, and hugged you, and loved you completely.

You persevered through so much adversity, never losing your charm.  Diagnosed at 7 with Arthritis in your spine and hips that the doctor declared “Would be (your) undoing by age 10 or 11 at the latest.”  (Guess how many times we saw that doctor again? And you were damn near 14 when you left us).

Cancer surgery at age ten, then a recurrence at age 13 that didn’t have enough time to affect your life anyway. You had more lumps on your belly than an Olympic mogul run.  One in particular kept growing and eventually began to pull your already weakened hind legs to the ground.  But you smiled, always. At least I knew you were smiling.  Your eyes twinkled.  Even when the chips were down and your gas light was on, you hopped up and down with your front legs and bobbed your head when it was time to party with your sisters.

I’m leaving so much out.  And this is already too long for any normal person to deal with, I understand.  

I learned how to SCUBA dive on the Great Barrier Reef, and Charly was my first dog. I will never see anything as majestic as I saw during those few days and nights I spent on the reef; just as I will never know or get to love a dog like you again. But I will continue to SCUBA dive, and I will continue to share my life with pups. You and Sophie are the standard now.  We knew it would be an era that we'd look back on with smiles and tears.  It just feels so strange that we are already here.

As hard as it is to know I will never walk with you, lie next to you, swim with you, or rub your velvet soft ears; I know that Laura and I are meant to share our lives and our girls' childhood lives with dogs. We have two amazingly wonderful new pups in our home now.  You lived with them for a bit, and now it's time for them to continue in your footsteps and honor your legacy.  They are off to a great start.

You were everything I could have ever dreamed for in a first dog, in ANY dog, and you live on in the hearts of my girls and Laura and me.  And your canine sisters, too, Sadie and Dixie.

I can say with near certainty that I will think about my time with you, in some respect, every single day for the rest of my life. Thank you for finding me, and for always reminding me that pure goodness does exist. 

Happy Birthday, and sleep peacefully sweet boy. 

I’d like to think I’ll meet up with you again, somewhere, sometime... somehow.

CHARLY KING 2000-2014 RIP