An ode to the Charlies of the world

My mom's dog had to be put down this weekend.

He was a golden retriever, only seven years old, but with a mysterious case of advanced kidney failure. He was the second Charlie--the first Charlie was a golden retriever/lab mix belonging to my sister many years ago. When he died, my mom decided she liked him so much she would get herself another Charlie, only this time, he would be a full-blooded golden retriever. With papers and everything. Thus Charlie (the Second) is the only pet my family has ever paid for.

He was a good dog--he loved everyone, even loved the cats. I'd like to have a dog of my own, one day, and the two Charlies are why. Happy, gregarious, loving dogs who make it a point to be kind to cats and smaller dogs. I don't have enough space, or a yard, for such a big dog, which is why I've never gotten one. But thinking back, my family has always had good luck with dogs. The myriad stray cats over the years were a mixed lot--some good, some bad, one epileptic. Our dogs, however, were a steadfast bunch of mutts.

I'll miss Charlie, and even though I haven't lived at home for twenty years, in a small way he felt like he was my dog a little bit too. I hugged my cats a little closer.