Finding Charlie.

One of my favorite sayings is, “is you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”

I did not plan on getting a new dog. Maybe not ever. But certainly not a day after saying goodbye to my best boy, Linus.

But for two weeks before my boy died, another small boy was found roaming our neighborhood, maybe as a stray, maybe he was a runaway, maybe he was dumped. But for two solid weeks, he managed to make his way from one side of our neighborhood to the other. For two solid weeks, he managed to keep himself safe from cars and coyotes and whatever other dangers are out there for a little pup.

For one week before my dog died, this little stray got close enough to a business in the neighborhood to have someone leave food out for him and to be brave enough to sneak over to the entrance and get snacks. He made a den under their building, and day by day inched a little closer to the woman that was feeding him.

And on the day my dog died, that other woman on the other side of the neighborhood finally was able to get close enough to this pup, to gain enough of his trust, to be able to pick him up.

Now, these are all details I figured out later, but on a Tuesday afternoon, after taking my dog to his vet of almost fifteen years, after saying goodbye to his soft, eternally sleeping little body for one last time, of entering into a period of grief that is unlike anything I have ever known, I went home to an empty house, and tried to distract myself with social media. That is when I saw this woman’s post about this other little critter, her updates, and her plea for a home for him. I sat heartbroken on my couch, in an intolerably quiet house, and showed my husband her post, and asked if we could foster him. Now, fostering is always something we had talked about as a possibility once we lost Linus. He had been best as an only dog, but now was our opportunity to help an animal in need and find him a new home. He took one look at this guy’s picture, and said yes, without a question more.

I messaged the woman that had him, and she let me know that someone else had also said they were interested, but she would let me know. The next morning, I went and “kidnapped” my neighbor’s dog, just to have something to snuggle for a bit, and that was when the reality of what I had agreed to hit me. WHAT WAS I THINKING? WHO GETS A DOG THE VERY NEXT DAY? This was very clearly an emotionally charged decision, and maybe not the wisest, and as I sat there holding my neighbor’s dog, I thought, OMG what have I done, I do NOT need a new dog. I sat with bated breath, waiting to hear if the other guy had come to claim him. By about two that afternoon, she had not heard anything and asked if we could come scoop him up. Umm. Ok. Sure. So, I dropped the neighbor’s dog back off, came back into my empty house, and curled up in the fetal position on my living room floor, sobbing, my body heaving with each breath, each wail filled with sadness. Walking back into my quiet, Linus-less house was more than I could bear, so we went to go get the dog. Rash decisions still felt better than whatever grief and uncomfortable feeling I was experiencing, and if this would make them feel… less… then fine. Anyway, he was just a foster, a band-aid, a soft furry thing to perhaps snuggle with or at the very least, fill my house with the clickety-clack of toenails on cold floors.

Charlie entered our house not unlike the way I went to get him: hopeful, scared, hesitant, and with wildly mixed emotions but it didn’t take too long to figure out that we needed him about as much as he needed us. I needed him to hang out in the kitchen with me while I made my coffee, like Linus did. I needed him to make me smile. To laugh. To train. To eat the food I dropped. To listen. To give licks and kisses. To be something to love and to be loved by, unconditionally, and to be forgiven for my shortcomings by every single day, without judgement, without weight, without parameters. I knew that this dog would not take Linus’ place. I knew that no dog could take Linus’ place- I mean, he was my first ever- but maybe he could just make it not hurt as badly inside my body. And he did. From the moment we brought him home, and he was much younger than we initially thought, he made me giggle. He made me smile. He was scared, a bit skittish and prone to hiding (as I am, so no judgement there!) But that was par for the course given he had lived on the streets for an unspecified length of time, and who knows what environment he was in prior to that. We still don’t know if he was dumped, or broke free from wherever he was, or was neglected, but whatever his story, I know now that he is smart enough to have made his way back to a home that he was happy in, and he clearly didn’t, so we opened our home to him. By that evening, he would alternate between lazily stretching out, belly ripe for the rubs, or he would curl up in our arms. He seemed happy to know he was safe, warm, and cared for. And our hearts felt a little bit better. This was probably the most love this little guy had ever known, and that felt important.

I should take a moment to interject here that I believe that some things are fate. I don’t believe in coincidence. And I believe there are things that you really just don’t have a choice in the matter about. Charlie is one of those things. I believe Linus picked him for us. I don’t know how the spirit world works, but I know that somehow while Linus was still alive, during his last few weeks of transitioning from this plane of existence to the next, his soul wandered, found this critter, said, follow me, I’m tired, my mom is going to need you and you need a home, so you can take my place if you promise to take care of her. And Charlie said, OK. If it were just the timing of it all, I could see your skepticism. But take a look at their mugshots and tell me that Linus didn’t do a good job of finding his predecessor. He found me a boy that, in the right light, and at certain angles, lets me see my baby boy all over again because sometimes, it looks like Linus is Just. Right. There. And I feel like I’ve been given a gift, hand chosen by the dog that gave me love and companionship, but anxiety, stress, and grief. (For those of you that don’t know, Linus had a hair trigger. He was highly reactive, was a biter, and insanely food aggressive and we spent almost 15 years doing risk management.) Like this was his way of saying, I’m sorry I was challenging, but here is my way of saying thank you for loving me and for never giving up on me, ever. Here is the dog you always deserved, the dog you thought you were getting the first time, and the dog you’ve earned.

See, Charlie and Linus may look alike, but their personalities could not be more different. Whereas Linus was always terribly excited, hopelessly optimistic and always hungry, Charlie looks unimpressed most of the time, seems skeptical of all things, and will walk away from a handful of dog treats sprinkled on the floor if he isn’t in the mood to eat them. But he is funny. He is insanely smart. He snuggles more than any dog I have ever known, and is a sweet, sweet boy with a loving disposition. So, this is how he has been melting our heart, one snuggle and doggie bowtie at a time. Ringing the doorbell to go potty. Giving high-fives and shaking hands. Our little prodigy. This is how we decided that even though it is ridiculously soon- and even though I wasn’t ready, and even though I thought I might never be ready again, and even though my heart still aches for Linus and the grief weighs me down like rocks stashed in my pockets, hidden from the world but for me to carry silently; grief that makes it hard for me to feel connected to much of anyone or anything right now, that makes me feel uncomfortable with feelings or touch, grief that is still so privately overwhelming that I feel exhausted from the chore of keeping it together, that even a hug feels like it is too much at times- that Charlie, this little perplexing stray dog that showed up in our lives at just the curiously right time, this complicated creature that created joy in Linus’ absence and also created sorrow when I remembered why he was with us in the first place, became a permanent part of our family. But it feels right, and if Linus chose him for us- hand-selected with the wisdom of the spirit guides, who am I to not oblige?

So, I’d like to formally introduce you to Mr. Charles “Charlie” Neapolitan Brown-Clawson. Mr. Charlie, an ode to The Grateful Dead (chuba, chuba,) Charlie Brown, an ode to Peanuts, and in homage to Linus. Neapolitan for his coloring, because he is brown and white and has a little smudge of pink on his nose, like a little scoop of puppy ice cream. The hyphenated last name because he is, after all, a Clawson. It is a regal name, for our new, second regal-not-beagle. It is a complex name, full of character and wisdom, much like Charlie- who I swear was an 80 year old man in his last life that said, when I go back, I want to go back as a dog and had his wish granted- and mostly, it is a name befitting this small, furry friend, this little wilderness warrior, and because of his bravery. He was a brave boy to keep himself alive in our neighborhood for weeks on end, but an even braver boy to listen to the spirit’s call to find us, and the bravest boy to step into the shoes that Linus left out for him to fill.