[Dailydrool] Young Charlie turns 11

[Elizabeth via Dailydrool]

A couple years ago life threw us some mean, ugly curveballs that have taken a surprisingly long time to recover from. It’s kept me from contributing to the Drool as I used to, and I haven’t even been able to read it regularly since April, which means I’m really behind on everyone’s news. 

But I want to let those who still remember us know that young Charlie celebrated his eleventh birthday today. He’s eleven chronologically only. In his heart, he’s more like two. While he sleeps more and has an almost white face (with white creeping up into the red of his shoulders and haunches), he’s still a lively, playful, naughty little boy who remains a bright, joyful light in my life. 

Charlie delights in finding things he knows I wouldn’t want him to have and then coming to show me he has them. He dances just out of reach with the forbidden item in his mouth. Before I know it, I’m playing chase with him, which is what he wanted all along. A couple weeks ago he discovered a little pink purse I had on a low shelf in the bedroom. The purse was going to be a Christmas gift, but now it has teethmarks and dried slobber on it. Taking the advice of another Drooler, I’ve turned it into Charlie’s purse, periodically putting it back on the shelf so he can experience the thrill of nabbing something he shouldn’t. 

It was too cold to go for a birthday walk today. Thanks to his deformed front legs and feet, Charlie's no longer good for long, brisk walks anymore anyway. He’s a member of the Rimadyl Club now and also takes Cosequin and fish oil supplements. But there’s only so much those can do with feet that aren’t as good at holding up the weight of his front end as they used to be. While he can—and does—still run away from me whenever he wants (and with a merry twinkle in his eyes), he’s not able to walk comfortably for more than about four blocks. 

In October I bought him an early birthday present, a Burly bike trailer that converts to a stroller. We call it Charlie’s Chariot and The Basset Buggy. Charlie seems reluctant to give up on a walk, walking more and more slowly in a way that makes me think he’s starting to hurt, and he has to be convinced to get into his buggy. Once he’s inside it, however, he settles right down, looks out the front, and gives every appearance of enjoying the ride. I get the impression he’s relieved to not have to walk the rest of the way and to not have to go home early either. We can go so much further when our walk turns into a buggy ride.

So, instead of a walk on his birthday, Charlie napped in my office while I worked, scored lots of green beans I “accidentally” dropped while cooking dinner, played with his toys, tore up a couple toilet paper tubes on the living room carpet, chewed a little more on “his” little pink purse, had some birthday cake, and is now dozing next to me on the sofa. Even though he needs it, he did not get his ears cleaned or his toenails trimmed. I couldn’t do that to him on his birthday.

Charlie was my birthday present nine years ago. We were only supposed to be fostering him for Bluegrass Basset Rescue. But he fit in so well, and I realized that he felt he was home with us and that I’d fallen in love with this happy little mischief maker. I told my husband that all I wanted for my birthday that year was for him to agree to adopting Charlie. I billed the idea as Charlie being a present Ken wouldn’t have to shop for or wrap or worry about whether I’d like it or not. Charlie has been the best birthday gift I’ve ever had—and probably ever will.

Happy, happy birthday, young Charlie, and many more! 

Elizabeth