An Open Letter to Charley
How You Settled Us Into Your Routine
Dear Charley
A long time ago, after losing a beloved dog I vowed to never own another pet. But here you are, running our lives, demanding attention and barking at anoyone who walks past the house.
We agreed to adopt you on the strength of two photos, and a sad tale of a peripatetic life with a family that had fallen on hard times. Your owner loved you Charley, but I imagine every dog knows hard times call for hard choices and she could not give you the time and attention you need.
You joined us last August during a cold winter made more miserable by the pandemic. When you arrived, you looked scared. So did your owner. We tried to be gentle with you both, chatting about the weather and her trip across town to meet us.
And then she left.
For the first few days of being with us, you’d go to the front door and whine. Not much, but enough for me to notice. I figured it was best to let you grieve.
A week or two later, you settled into teaching us who you are and what you needed. Cuddles first thing in the morning are a non-negotiable custom. Playing fetch every day in the backyard became official policy, although on wet days, throwing your toy cat up and down the hallway is a tolerable substitute.
For the first few mornings, we had the inevitable messes to clean up. Then, to your apparent gratitude, we realised you were used to being ‘toileted’ at night before going to bed.
What ‘bed’ meant needed to be negotiated as well. For us, it meant the new dog bed and blanket in the lounge room. For you, it meant sleeping on our bed. We found a compromise: you accepted the dog bed when we put it on the floor at the end of our bed.
Your other favourite place is on the ottoman in my writing room. We can work together companionably for hours until I’m jolted out of a hard-won writing trance by you barking at anyone unfortunate enough to walk past our house. I still can’t work out how such a small dog’s bark is so loud, and sometimes I suspect no one has passed by; you just want my attention.
We need to work on a couple of things, Charley: you’re no good on a leash. Maybe your original owner didn’t have the time to help you prove yourself. You want to trot along nicely, but when you spot another dog walking down the street, no matter how docile it is, everyone in the neighbourhood can hear you bark. I’m glad we can’t translate your barking. Let’s just say whatever you’re trying to communicate sounds neither dignified nor polite.
We had two dogs visit us to help you overcome your fear of other dogs. You greeted them with a robust warning that these were your humans and it’s taken a lot of work to train them. Once you established that, you and your new canine friends played happily together.
So, Charley, I guess you could say we’ve all settled into a routine… of sorts
You arrived here during Covid, so your sweet company has leavened our lockdowns. You listen to my complaints, you insist I ‘do things’ like throwing the ball, and you place a gentle, calming paw on my knee when I weep.
On the day you arrived, soon after your first owner left, the words from You Are My Sunshine* came to mind, and I sang it to you. Now, if I feel low or you seem introspective, I sing it. You gaze at me with your big brown eyes as if you remember the song, though I know that’s just my fancy. Perhaps the two of us remember what we’ve lost in the past few months. Perhaps you just think I’m singing out of tune.
Since we adopted you, I’ve learnt more about dogs than I thought I could. I’ve learnt a lot about myself as well. If following me everywhere is any sign, it seems you approve of me, Charley. I’m not the perfect dog owner, but I do my best. I’m also sure that, between the two of us, you will learn to behave when I take you for a walk.
I’m glad I broke my decision to never own another pet. I love how you behave as if you run our household, demand our attention and bark at anyone who dares come too close to our home. When you're satisfied that we’re safe, I love watching you curl nose to tail on my knee, sigh and fall into an easy slumber.
Love from, Janet
*Song by Charles Mitchell and Jimmie Davis, published 1940.
