When Charlie came home for the first time, there were lots of other animals – horses, cats, humans and several dogs, ranging from a tiny grumpy fluffball to a wolfhound cross who crossed his legs when he lay down, and took up a whole couch.

The new arrival was supposed to be a mixture of two types of collie, but he looked more like a panda in dog form, all in black and white, with a curious, friendly nose and a coat utterly unsuited to a rural property covered in farmer's friends.

To his new people, he was a strange blend of two dogs they'd lost before. He had long, fast legs hidden under his shaggy fur, but a chunky kind of face with a white beard and intense dark eyes. Often, he looked like he was about to say something, but he rarely did, apart from wuffing when he needed a door opened.

Charlie had been evicted from his first home for getting bored and running away. He became the poster dog for the animal shelter (looking over his shoulder in a wistful way he never lost), but his attempts to find a new home so far had all been unsuccessful. Too boisterous, too hairy, too much.

He loved swimming (in all weathers, and no matter how inconvenient it was for his humans), eating porridge, chasing sticks and driving in the car with his head out the window, ears flapping.

Tennis balls were his favourite thing in the world, and if he went to the beach he would shamelessly steal balls from other dogs and their humans. Once he got so distracted chasing balls he ended up kilometres down the beach, where someone rang the number on his collar and hung on to him until his person arrived, puffing.

Charlie could retrieve a tennis ball chucked into impenetrable weeds, or over a ridge into a running river, or off a balcony, even with his eyes covered for the throw. He found tennis balls in the most unlikely places; cemeteries, truck stops, city streets, middens.

Usually the most mild-mannered of dogs, when he had to be clipped he turned into a slavering demon, biting and struggling to avoid any kind of haircut. In the end, he had to be drugged once a year to complete the task, just so he could survive summer.

He didn't like being restrained, and was known to chew through leads and seat belts if left in one place for too long, or if he didn't like where he was going. His sharp teeth snipped through these obstacles as neatly as scissors, until there were knots in every lead he owned.

When Charlie visited other houses where there were animals, he would hoover up whatever food was available and then behave like an angel, apart from occasionally vomiting when his eyes were bigger than his stomach.

He had no fellow feeling for other black and white creatures, especially magpies, but loved visiting horses and was nice to cats (mostly). He always had to be the first one through any door.

His favourite place to sleep was squashed in a crawl space under the bed where he could barely fit, but close to his humans, and on guard against monsters.

Charlie was always an anxious dog, not good at being left on his own, and particularly scared of storms. He became more anxious as he grew older. Was it from his troubled beginnings or did it rub off from his humans?

He remained a puppy at heart; people touching car keys or putting on underpants was all it would take to put him on high alert about possible adventures.

As he got older, Charlie got much better about running away, although he did return more than once looking like a green yeti, he was so covered in weeds. Once a visiting dog took him on an unauthorised adventure across the valley, and over multiple properties occupied by gun-toting farmers, but that was a one-off.

Almost every human he met liked him, and he liked almost everyone. Charlie appeared to regard his role in life as a goodwill ambassador, and he took that responsibility seriously, lifting the spirits of everyone he encountered, from children to old people in nursing homes. Everywhere he went, he made people smile.

Steadily, the older animals disappeared from his home tribe, until Charlie, the youngest, was the only dog left. His people grew closer to him, and took him on a big road adventure across the country, but he was finding it harder to breathe, and would often pant mysteriously for hours.

Ticks and other possibilities were ruled out. As he approached thirteen, Charlie's usual vet was away overseas, but he needed a clip and some lumps investigated. Cancer was ruled out. After his clip, he looked unrecognisable as usual. 'You've got a new dog!' said the vet.

Sadly, this was true.

Maybe it was the sedation, or an underlying problem that had been lurking for some time, but Charlie's head fell to one side, as though he'd had a stroke, and he seemed confused. He started sleeping more and more, and lost interest in his favourite foods, even treats like porridge and chew sticks.

His usual vet returned, and sadly diagnosed lymphoma. There was only enough time to say goodbye, and carry him to the places he loved, as he grew weaker.

Early one morning, three short weeks later, he died quietly in his sleep in the next room, without any fuss, after coming for a big cuddle the night before.

He was buried beneath a tangelo tree on a beautiful summer's morning, wrapped in a blanket, as one of his special people sang him a song.

The night before, at the house where she was staying, a purple tennis ball appeared mysteriously at the foot of the bed, right near where Charlie used to sleep.

***

I wrote this story in December 2022, soon after what would have been Charlie's thirteenth birthday. Photos David Lowe.

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