Goodbye Charlie, you were a champion

 

Chased her last rat, nipped the last dog tails or legs as they hung over furniture, begged for her last treat or substantial portion of my dinner - Charlie, my landlord's dog - whom I've known for just about her whole life - passed on very quickly, thank God, a few days ago.  Why I wept buckets I'm not sure: I knew she was ailing - she had been for quite a while - she was very old - she could drive you right up the wall and back down again.  In her last year, she didn't quite know where she was: she would stand stock still, look at nothing in particular, and bark; she evacuated her bowels (sorry Charlie, I know this is indelicate, but come on, you did!) right outside my door, and occasionally in the landlord's flat when she felt she needed to make a point: this is not something she'd ever have done when younger - she got ornery, forgetful, irritable, deaf - you could walk up to her from behind, and she'd suddenly jump when she caught your scent.  

My landlord, one Chris, inherited her from his mother: Charlie then imprinted on Chris's partner, the lovely Pat, who died in due course; Chris was told Charlie was vicious - she was as vicious as a marshmallow on a feather cushion once you got to know her, and vice versa.  Feisty, yes!  Absolutely she was feisty - aggressive, conscious of her status and dignity, mistress of all she surveyed: biting my second landlady in the bottom when she got cross with Chris .... oh yes: she was all of that.  But never vicious - that was a vile calumny, and if Charlie had understood it was, she'd have had your throat out......  Vicious!  Tush...  

I painted her portrait in 2017, as she flopped, in hot weather, in a crack in the paving outside my landlord's flat - she didn't pose: she got up at the most awkward moment, but!  I had thought to take a photograph, and there she is.  I miss you, dog: I expect to see you coming round the corner, wagging your tail when you realized it was me - never over friendly to other dogs (well after all, who DID they think they were, trespassing on her domain? - coming round here, sniffing her backside!  The very idea!): yapping at my door when she sensed fish and chips - she was very partial to a chip; even more so to a bit of fish in batter - chicken was popular too; a slice of pork; a bit of roast potato ... all she asked was a little consideration, a nibble, the occasional succulent slurp - and that's all she got, but she was quite reasonable about it, on the whole.  

Then, a few days ago, a gasp, a stagger - and that was it.  It could have been so much worse, and I'm grateful for her sake that it wasn't.  This may well be sentimental - yes, it probably is: but I'd rather be sentimental than as cold as a witch's wotsit - a lot of emotion was wrapped up in that dog, for all of us living here: and she deserved an In Memoriam, so - this is mine.