It just keeps moving on.
It’s been a crazy week, with enough tinder to spark a hundred posts, only to be capped off tonight by a follower of this page reaching out for help. Her life has recently been turned upside down by the unexpected death of her husband, leaving her to deal with not only that overwhelming issue, but having to move in with her daughter, and rehome her five dogs.
By this weekend; Saturday to be exact.
I consider It a great honor that she would look to the Casa del Whackos on her time of need, but at the same time, with that honor comes a great burden. We’ve never even met, and have no idea the temperament, size, training, etc, of the dogs in question, but that didn’t stop mom. We got pictures of the dogs, and she sent out a mass email to every shelter and rescue organization in the state. Can we succeed? All we can do is try; this page is a place for good news, especially on Charlie Bravo Day, but sometimes storms happen even on national holidays; we’ll keep you posted.
As this is the week that Charlie came to take up residence at the Casa three years ago, you can imagine that that as well has raised some old feelings. When we found her, she weighed fifteen pounds; now she weighs fifty five, so you can imagine that the pictures don’t begin to tell the whole tale of her condition. I have made no secret of the murder in my heart should we have encountered those that left her when we took the truck back out to the crate to fetch her home. But we didn’t, and suffered nothing worse than Zach’s vehicle needing a thorough fumigation, as Charlie smelled… well, she smelled bad. REALLY bad, as in devil’s armpit, paper mill, porta potty in August bad.
What would I do now, if by some miracle, I were to discover, without a shadow of a doubt, exactly who had dumped her crate on the side of the road that night in January? I’ve given it a great deal of thought over the last three years, and for a long time, I’m sure my actions would probably resulted in a lengthy prison sentence. But now, the first thing I would do is find out exactly where they live, pay them a visit, and do the thing they would least expect.
I would thank them.
Obviously not for what they caused Charlie to endure, but for being such imbeciles to give up the chance to have such a special dog and allowing me the chance to prove myself worthy. What good would it do to berate them, demand answers, or otherwise sink to their level?
If you fight with a pig, you both get dirty, and sooner or later, you realize that the pig likes it.
Then I would make it a point to load up Charlie on the Charkstream and buzz their house as often as I could, just to show them what they were missing, at least I would if they happened to live on a winding road, with no blind corners or decreasing radius curves. If they lived on a straight, boring road, I probably wouldn’t even bother, as life is too short to spend unnecessary saddle time on straight, boring, roads.
Hey dad?
What’s up, Charlie? I thought you were asleep…
What if, as we were riding past their house, I had to take a massively gnarly crap of epic proportions?
Well, that depends, Charles; do you think you could manage to fit it through their mail slot? Hypothetically speaking, of course…
You know it, dad, as long as I had a couple of cans of Gravy Train the night before.
Then I think you have your answer, Charkilicious.
Dad?
What now, Charles?
I love a happy ending.
