Before I came upstairs to re-situate my computer on my desk and such (I move down there at night after everyone else goes to bed to either draw or use my hookah), I saw my two dogs sleeping, or waiting to fall asleep. The older one, Charlie, was sleeping and must have been dreaming as his legs were moving wildly. I walked up to him and layed down next to him. I stretched my arm out across him and stroked down his back. My initial touch sort of startled him out of his dream, and he looked at me with just his eyes. Laying next to him, petting him gently, I inched my face up for him to lick my chin (which he loves to do) but he didn't. And the longer he went without doing so, I was getting more and more sad. You may not think of letting a dog lick your face as something wanted, but it's a sign of affection. I don't know if he was too tired to move or just didn't feel like it, but it was disheartening. I know, I know, he's just a dog, but he's the most amazing dog. He is either eleven or twelve, and you may think that if he is so important to me, I should know his age, but frankly, I don't want to know the exact age. A dog at his age is old, and it breaks my heart knowing he only has a few years left.

I had two dogs before him. When I was very young, I had a black lab named Duff. I remember him so vividly, despite the fact that I was three years old at the time. I remember loving him so much even then. Sitting on the back porch, sharing a bowl of cheerios. That's the memory I have. Left out of my memory is the act of Duff becoming more angry as he aged, and his biting of me led for the dog to be put to sleep. Honestly, just thinking about it makes me sad, and full of guilt. Yes, is it very unfortunate that he bit me, but I wish I knew what exactly happened. I don't know any other part of the story. I don't know how old he was at the time. Perhaps he was losing his vision and wasn't aware it was me. Did I do something to cause it, or deserve it? I mean, if I had stepped on his tail or something along those lines, I don't know, but just thinking that he was put down partly because of me, just sort of sits in my brain.

Soon after Duff, my family moved to a bigger house a few blocks away. We soon got a new dog. My dad had a grey siberian husky named Toby when he was in high school, that still lived with my grandparents because it was the home it always knew and moving it in with new people at his age just wasn't fair to the dog. I remember him too, but nothing specific. We ended up getting another siberian husky, a red one named Skee. This prompted my love for siberian huskies. This dog was amazing. Back before we had a fence around our back yard, when she was out, we had her tied up to a tree. I remember one fall day, we let her off the leash, and my older sister, Kate, and I played with her in the leaves. But Skee wasn't the most fortunate of dogs... Her constant bought with sickness was all I ever thought about. And one day after school, my sister and I walked home to find her laying against the back fence not breathing. I ran into the house to call my mother at work, but by the time my mother had answered, Kate was running toward the door in tears saying she had just witnessed Skee's eyes roll back. She was only seven. We were all heart broken over it. Especially my dad. I think he loves dogs more than anything else. Not having a dog running around the house just didn't feel right. At that point in my life, I really didn't know what it was like to not have a dog.

I don't know exactly how long after Skee's passing it was, but within a year, there was an article in the newspaper about the animal shelter just outside of town. The photo in the paper was two women holding up a four week old, black siberian husky. As soon as my dad saw it that night, he was dead set on getting to that shelter the next morning to rescue that dog. We all got there together the next morning thirty minutes before the shelter opened. While waiting, another family came looking to adopt the same dog, but since we were there first they conceeded the dog to us, and thankfully, rescued a different dog. Honestly, I can't go to those shelters because I want to take every single animal home with me.

We brought the dog home and soon after named him Charlie. Kate picked the name, I don't know why she suggested it, and at first it didn't seem fitting to me. After awhile, it really stuck. This little puppy had large feet that made him walk around in a cute awkward way, and had those large puppy ears that flopped over. Charlie was so cute and clumsy, sort of like a Charlie Chaplin, so yeah, the name fit.

A few years went by, and Charlie was maybe around seven, my mother's friend told her that there was a dog available because the person who owned it couldn't take care of it because they were sick. This happened to be another black siberian husky puppy. My dad, once again, was all over the idea, and next thing I knew, we had two dogs. This dog was already named Nala (yes, like the Lion King). At first, I wasn't too happy about having her in our home. I really didn't know why. I kind of felt bad for Charlie. Maybe I thought he would feel like she was replacing him, or something along those lines, but I just sort of resented her for a few weeks. Eventually, I loved her as much as anyone else. Even though she is probably the least intelligent dog I have ever met, ha. She likes to run into things apparently. She's very clumsy and quite an awkward dog. She lays in the weirdest positions, and she won't hesitate to stick her nose where ever she pleases. You also can't just sit and pet her. She has to constantly move and try to play. And she also seemed to age Charlie, or make him seem older or more mature. Charlie's favorite game was "Grab the random object from either the trash can or off the coffee table and make everyone chase him around to get it out of his mouth." Well, he stopped doing that once we got Nala. He just sort of...slowed down.

Ok, back to tonight. Charlie wouldn't lick my chin, or "give me a kiss," so I glanced over at Nala laying at the bottom of the stairs. She was staring at us. So I crawled over and started to pet her. I have to keep it even between them. I can't show one dog more love than the other because they notice these things, I swear to god they do. So I ran my hand down her back and she put her head back down on the floor and actually stayed still and enjoyed the petting. Maybe it's because she was too tired to try to play, but I like to think of it was a moment. Lame, I know, but when I moved my hand up to scratch her face (which lately, she has has been rubbing her face on everything due to itch, so I scratched it for her) she turned her head and gave me a kiss on the hand. Then again, I moved back to Charlie, and this time, after a few pets on the chest, there was a kiss. I know I can't be the only one who enjoys things like that with their pets. At least, out of all the sane pet owners. Nala then got up, stretched a bit, and walked over to the both of us and layed down. I layed between the two of them, not petting, but just with an arm on each one, and really, I could have just fallen asleep right there. It is so comforting just being there with them.

Once it is time for Charlie to pass on, I am going to be a wreck. Just going off to school and not seeing him everyday was awful. I am curious to see how the change will effect Nala, because she has never known a world without Charlie. Nala is the kind of dog that always looks like she is smiling, and I like to think that she's always happy, and I'd like her to stay that way. But I know none of us in my family will be happy. My little sister, Mary, is only a few years older than Charlie so she really doesn't know what it's like for him to not be around either.

I have an old aquaintance from high school, who I had a big rift with during college, and we ended up essentially hating eachother.  Well, I remember one day, in his away message, it said that his dog had died. And despite how much I despised him at the time, I just wanted to tell him how sorry I was. I knew how much he loved that dog, very much on the level as my love of Charlie, and I just don't know. There will be a huge void in my life without him. I hope this doesn't sound way too blown out of proportion, but when you have loved something this long, no one can ever say, "It is just a dog." They are never just dogs. They are friends. They are family. They are love. Plain and simple.

And we still have the article, with the picture of a puppy Charlie being held by the two women, framed in our living room.