The first time we met Charlie it was instant love. We had been asked by beagle paws to pick up him up at the Human Society in February of 2004, brought in from Conception Bay. He was a pathetic little creature; with a tail docked so short it truly wasn’t visible. He looked frightened out of his wits, he didn’t want in the car, he didn’t want to stay where he was. On the way home we named him Charlie Brown, because of his lovely chestnut brown fur. At home with us, when let out of his kennel, he would stand in the middle of our living room, not moving for hours, unsure of what to do with his freedom. We gradually coaxed him onto the sofa where he cuddled into a ball. His whole body would stiffen up, scared, when you tried to cuddle him. Two weeks later we brought him to a potential adoption home, and they adopted him on the spot. At home without him, we knew we had made a huge mistake in letting him go. He was the quietest, least house-trained, most unassuming foster dog we had had yet, and yet there was this feeling that he was intended for our family. That summer we attended the Beagle Reunion, desperate that his new family would bring him so we could see him, but he was not there.
That November, I was in our new home in Halifax and I saw on the Beagle Paws website that Charlie was once again up for adoption. My heart was breaking that he had to go through the ordeal again, but we quickly jumped into action and asked that we be able to adopt him. From the moment he arrived in Halifax to his passing, he was continuously changing. At the beginning he would flinch at any noise, movement, change in light. He just barely trusted us. As he grew with us he became a buoyant, joyful, happy-go-lucky, confident DIVA, who loved his luxuries and who would howl with delight for everything and everyone. And the non-existent tail? He could vibrate his nub with such enthusiasm that it was clearly on display for all how happy he was! The dog who was afraid of everybody had become the dog who would approach people in the park, eager to greet. He stole the heart of everyone he met.
His big sister Bruno helped us keep care of him, cleaning his ears and eyes several times a day. He would trail around after his other sister Rory on sniffing adventures. Charlie had two speeds when he was running around: full tilt and stop. We lost Charlie while he was being cared for by a friend who had grown to love him as deeply as we did. He broke free of his leash and ran off into the woods at the same full tilt speed that he approached everything in his life, off on some wild scent chase. To all our great sorrow and desperation he was hit by a car while off doing what he loved best, running! Our family will never be the same without him. He was a constant joy, with hundreds of quirks (with new ones appearing each and every day). He never knew the word “No” because we could deny him nothing.
Rest in peace our brave little soldier, our stinky little teddy bear, our Beloved “B”. You are irreplaceable.
Love your Mom and Dad (Neal and Nicola Finley) and your canine sister Bruno and Rory, and your feline sister Mini Mao