Early on the last morning of Charley's life, a black cat stood outside in our yard in the dark. I'm not superstitious. My beloved Ben-cat, beautiful plush all black Ben, was near the end of his 15 year life when we brought Charley home, and died shortly thereafter. Ben and Charley never knew each other; Ben was too old and tired to deal with a young energetic pup and he steered clear of Charley for the short time they both shared our home. When Rob told me a black cat sat out front on the morning we knew we had to let Charley go, I could think only one thing: Ben had come to take Charley, and Charley would be accompanied on his next journey by an animal I loved as much as I love Charley. The thought comforted me.
Charley was an extremely expressive dog, yet I rarely remember him barking for what he wanted, or in excitement, or most of the other reasons dogs bark. He made many sounds though. He gave a singing howl when we came home, especially when the last of us returned from our separate activities in the evening. He loved having his whole pack home for the night. Charley was an active dreamer. He would start dreaming as soon as he fell asleep - paws, eyebrows and whiskers twitching, and making a loud muffled barking sound we called "woop-woop". For a dog who rarely barked during waking hours, he barked constantly in his sleep. Many is the night his woop-woop dreams woke us up. We hoped he was dreaming of chasing something wonderful, like a squirrel or a bunny, and not being chased by something scary.
Charley had a large repertoire of vocalizations. He growled menacingly when Petey stumbled over him in his zeal to get the toy we threw for him. Charley never really saw the point of playing fetch, maybe that was why Petey's clumsiness annoyed him. The only times we could really count on Charley to bark - and bark loudly - was when someone came to the door. When he was chasing a squirrel in the yard he would make a high pitched squealing sound. Otherwise, no barking, no loud noises. One of the many reasons Charley was so easy to live with is that he was so quiet.
Which made it difficult sometimes to figure out what he wanted when he delivered one of his patented meaningful gazes. He would walk up to us and look intently into our faces with his warm brown eyes, his tail wagging gently and hopefully, and we were meant to guess what he wanted: supper? out? walk? Walk was a likely choice; what dog doesn't jump at the chance to go for a walk. Supper was pretty easy. We fed the dogs first thing in the morning and again around 6:30 pm and Charley's internal clock rarely failed him, if it perhaps ran a bit fast. If we didn't figure out what he wanted, or missed the whole subtle communication and gave him a distracted ear scratch, he would go lie down on the floor, sighing loudly, and try again later.
At night Charley slept on the floor of our bedroom on his bed by the dresser. Sometimes he started the night on our bed, jumping up by invitation only, and curling himself by our feet. He didn't like it when our feet moved though, especially in his later years, and he would get down and go to his own bed with a harrumph if we moved too much while we settled in for sleep. Some time in the night he would wake up and come to the side of the bed to give one of his meaningful stares, which had limited effectiveness when we were asleep hough many is the night one or the other of us 'heard' him staring at us and woke up enough to give the invitation. If he needed to up his game to get our attention, he would shake his head making an ear-flapping sound. We responded by tapping the covers with our hand and that was sufficient invitation for Charley. Charley was an incorrigible bed hog. He generally slept on my side of the bed and pushed me towards the middle, leaving Rob clinging to the frame on his side. We didn't banished him from the bed though, it was Charley.
Charley never begged for food because we never fed him from the table, and his manners were such that we could make a ham sandwich and leave it on the coffee table, and that dog would not touch it. Charley knew where the dog treats were kept though, and when one of us went to the kitchen, he would accompany us and then sit emphatically by the cabinet where the treats lived. If we missed the signal - we never gave him a treat unless he did something to earn it; sitting was often sufficient - he would reset, slamming his rear end down on the floor to demonstrate his compliance with the sit rule. If we tried to get around him he couldn't believe it, and would serially reset himself in front of us to block our passage. Rob's alpha-ness considered this a challenge and he would try to break up Charley's intense focus on the treats jar, but I almost always caved and gave up a dog cookie.
Second way in which Charley made me a better person: your needs will get met eventually, don't demand. Unless there is a treat at stake.
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