Ticket 2 Ride

Charlie came to us three years ago this month as a puppy, eleven pounds of teeth and ears. Thank God he would grow out of that stage. And grow, he did.

Now, one hundred pounds with a big trunk and long, spindly legs, he makes a king-size bed disappear as he unfolds his long frame. A Swiss Army dog we call him. Charlie, like most of us humans, possesses many talents, quirks and some strange behavior.

Life with Charlie is anything but boring. The first time he spoke, I was more surprised at his depth of vocabulary and sarcastic sense of humor. I’m to blame for that, but his Mom is responsible for his use of profanity.

Philip K. Dick might have made up this story, but he didn’t. Dick’s theory certainly applies: existence is based on internal human perception, which does not necessarily correspond to external reality.

Charlie doesn’t really talk with words, but his communication skills are quite surprising.

Let me start at the beginning…

Charlie came to us several months after Zeus, my wife’s black lab passed away. She believes that Zeus guided us to Charlie. My wife picked him from a litter of dogs she found were up for adoption. My wife felt a connection with him. We were in Colorado at the time and we adopted him before we even saw him.

Three years later, he’s the center of our household. He’s a sweet boy, unless you are a delivery person bringing something to the front door. We’ve taken Charlie to behavioral classes, and hired a dog trainer to help teach him. What I’ve learned is that he’s trained us.

Humans and dogs develop a shorthand in communicating thoughts and needs. True. Charlie is able to convey numerous things by his look, primarily his eyes and how he rests his head on a part of my body. He’s not typically verbal unless someone is outside the house. He does however have a variety of sighs he uses, usually when he lays down. And, when he yawns, he emits a high pitched squeak.

Charlie is not a demanding dog, but he can be insistent when wanting something. He’s 100 pounds and has a strong chest and neck. When he wants to push something, like getting past me to the door, he usually wins. However, his most powerful move is with the sad eyes and head on my chest. He wins again.

To help release his energy, and to give me some freedom, Charlie attends doggie daycare three days a week. He gets to socialize around other dogs, and by the end of the day, he comes home exhausted. The daycare has cameras in the playrooms so we can tune in to see him during playtime. He’s very loved there, that’s what the staff tell us. He just finished as Dog of the Week, his photo where everyone could see it and his mom was so proud. “My, what a handsome dog,” said many people who use the daycare. Well, I’m sure those people probably said it.

Charlie has a very distinctive personality and is a stickler for routine. When he leaves the dog play area after we arrive to pick him up, he runs to the door with his leash in his mouth. He insists on walking himself out – after every visit. We’re told that no other dog does that and other dog parents have remarked when seeing him running towards us with his leash.

At home, Charlie is very independent. If you call him, he may not come. It’s not a selective hearing issue on his part, it’s selective engagement. When he wants to play, we play. When he just wants to sit or lay in the backyard, that’s what he does. He loves the backyard – the smells, the different wildlife that stops by, he listens intently to all of the different sounds coming over the tall, wooden fence. He patrols the fence line, chasing squirrels or birds or rabbits, but he’s much too slow for them. While neighbor dogs have a tendency to bark, Charlie only barks when a stranger approaches the house. Sorry delivery and mail people, that ferocious bark sounds worse than it is.

At times, Charlie can be the most aloof creature on Earth, except something is on his mind, something he wants. His silent stares, body positioning, sad eyes, his ears back, lowering his head – all subtle (yeah, not so much) efforts to hypnotize me into granting his wish.

Charlie is like having a child, which is how many people treat their pets. I told myself that would never be me. Thankfully, we don’t dress Charlie in costumes or clothes, or parade him around for funny videos. A party hat once in a while, but no funny videos of him in a sailor suit or a tux. The last thing I want is years of taking him to the canine psychiatrist to undue all of the bad parenting.

I tend to watch over Charlie more than I need to. Is his water bowl filled? Has he been outside recently? What’s that spot on his fur? Watching the clock to make sure his food is promptly served at five o’clock. Normal stuff. Then there is making sure he has plenty of room on the bed to sleep. Once the Swiss Army Dog unfolds his long legs and large body, our king size bed suddenly feels cramped. Never mind that I’m on the edge of the bed, his head draped over my ankles.

Charlie loves the backyard. There are a lot different things to smell or chase. He’s been transported to a different world, the backyard. He has a “safe” place, standing between the large shrubs. He thinks he’s invisible, but we can still see him. He retreats to the bush for a variety of reasons. He watches us from the bush; he will come out to chase something, or he demonstrates he wants to play catch or fetch. He can also be found among the flowers and plants – much to my wife’s annoyance.

He runs the back fence line, chasing squirrels or if he hears another dog barking on the other side. He will study the fence, his eyes and hears on alert, constantly stopping his interaction with us, to be ready to respond to noise from across the fence. This obsessive behavior with what he hears, or often imagines, is like a spell.

He very much demands that one or both of us accompany him outside. Once outside, he ignores us. Till he wants to play, when he will bring a toy to us to throw for him to fetch. He may or may not retrieve it, or he might go to his bush or other point along the fence line. He generally ignores us when we call him; then he will amble up to us with his toy and drop it next to us. He wants to play catch – or does he.

I cannot imagine life without Charlie, he is an enigmatic character, sent to keep me on my toes, to challenge me, to depend on me, to show me a kind of love that unites our spirits. Charlie knows that I’m not perfect, I’m sure he is mystified by me, this enigmatic human that he depends on, but loves me anyway.