Charlotte.

Charlotte. The Fat, Pig Pug. Poor little soul. Rescued at the age of seven, and then almost immediately went blind and demented. But I would have had her anyway, even if I had known, because there is absolutely nothing about her to dislike.

Fortunately, she is not of my heart, but I doubt that I am of hers either. Just a food provider. So there will be no crying or wailing when the inevitable day arrives.

She has completely forgotten that the lavatory is in the garden, but I can’t get upset about a very old mat. And picking up shit off a mat is easier than picking it up off the grass.

However, she has no problem whatsoever in remembering that it is Breakfast or Dinner Time, and exactly where her food bowl is.

She is company of a kind, and gets me out of bed in the morning. And doesn’t she half let me know if I oversleep.

She follows me around, but only because my feet tell her where to go. Or perhaps because she thinks there might be a treat at the end of it.

The noises she makes in passing are horrendous and enough to make you think she is about to expire, or is in dire agony, so I don’t think I will have another Pug.

I tell myself that there will be no more Dogs after her. But I suspect that this is wishful thinking.

I know now that there will never be another Hamlet. But I also know that I was so very lucky to have had him.
Cue Tissue.

2 Responses to “Charlotte.”

  1. thelastfurlong Says:

    Ah Charlotte – what a friend! Touching post – thank you.

  2. thelastfurlong Says:

    Reblogged this on The Last Furlong and commented:
    What a fun post about our doggie friends. They come in all shapes and sizes – sometimes even loving us only for the FOOD we share with them. That’s dogs for you!

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