Charley. Charles. Charley-Boy. Charz. Charley-Bear. Char-Char. Charlito. ‘Lito. Buddy Boy. Boo-Boo. Munchkin. Pumpkin-Head. Monkey Boy. Knucklehead. Chuck. My Good Boy. My Best Boy.
These are most of the names I have called Charley over the years, and he has always been gracious enough to respond to all of them. Nowadays, though, with his hearing mostly gone, a piercing whistle has to do. A little over 14 years ago, he came into my life–at the time, I was in college and didn’t really need another dog, but I couldn’t refuse the emaciated, tick-riddled, partially bald, just run-over pup. And these were just the problems you could see. I had just started working as a veterinary technician, and I’ll never forget my boss and mentor sitting down with me and asking, “Are you sure you want this dog? Because he’s sorta a train wreck. We can try to fix him up, kiddo, but I make no promises. He’s going to be a lot of work.” Well, I was never one to back down from a challenge and I’ve always been a sucker for the underdog.
The good news was that no bones were broken, although he urinated blood for a couple of days due to trauma to his kidneys and bladder. His fecal material was mostly insects, cricket parts mostly, but a fecal exam revealed he had basically every intestinal parasite possible. He literally had thousands of ticks on him and was anemic, but he was a tough little trooper.
It broke my heart that this sweet little four month old pup had endured so much in his short life–the lady who brought him in (and also accidentally run him over) found him out in the middle of nowhere when she was looking at property out near Lake Travis. She saw the pup and tried to catch him, but he hid in the woods. When she and her real estate agent got out of their vehicle to look at the land, the pup, unbeknownst to her, crawled under the car. When they got back in their car to leave, she felt a bump as she started forward, and realized she had just run the pup over.
Months later, it was discovered that he had a diaphragmatic hernia, basically a tear in the muscle separating the abdomen from the thorax. His intestines were literally in his chest and, on ultrasound, you could actually see intestines around his heart. Because of this organ movement, his liver had been strangulated and, to compensate, his body had formed multiple external liver shunts. Unfortunately, these shunts did not provide adequate blood flow to the liver, so his liver was stressed, too. One whole student loan went to pay the surgical specialist to repair the hernia–the shunts were inoperable, but eventually, once all his organs were back in place, it ended up correcting itself.
Charley became my do-anything-and-everything dog–a certified therapy dog, an enthusiastic disc dog, and an excellent agility dog. He would go with my boss to area schools when he talked to students about how to become a veterinarian. He went with me to visit residents at nursing homes until that became too much for me to handle. He was a demo dog at dog training events and a teaching dog for new technicians to learn how to perform certain procedures. He tried herding once, and although I had seen him work cattle naturally when out horseback riding, he was not a fan of the goats they used at the herding dog seminar. My dog, my highly trained, performance rated, can-do-anything dog, stood in the middle of the round-pen on the long line, looked at the goats, looked at the trainer, looked at the goats again, and then took a giant dump. So much for herding.
Over the years, Charley has been a constant friend–he teaches the new dogs the ropes and keeps the younger ones in line. He is like a cat with nine lives–he was paralyzed on his right side for a while after he tripped over a five foot horse fence when he tried to jump it, landing on his head instead of his feet; ehrlichia has reared its ugly head a few times because of all the ticks he had as a pup; he was bit by a snake when he stayed with my parents for a while. He currently battles arthritis and doesn’t chase the frisbee anymore, but he still occasionally volunteers to be a demo dog at work, teaching the newbies handling and simple procedures.
Old Charley’s color has faded with age, now he’s more white and his tan points have mostly faded. He’s gained a few pounds in retirement, he’s mostly deaf, and his vision is not as good. He’s got lots of lumps (lipomas) and broken off teeth. But, he’s still my good boy, my best boy. He’s a first class snuggler and can still get in trouble with the best of them. What a dog to share my life for the past fourteen years! I thank the higher powers that be every day for sending that poor, miserable, unloved pup my way all those years ago. Everyone should be so lucky.
Grimm's Furry Tail 
