The Charlie Bravo Story

Time to roll

Yo, dad…

What’s up, Charlie?

Check out mom’s side of the bed; remember how smug she used to be when she didn’t have to share her space with us inmates? Look at her now, having to share that pristine wilderness with Ajax, Marco, and Mia. Now you and I have the western provinces all to ourselves!

Don’t act like you’re doing me any favors, Charles; sleeping with you is like sleeping with ten dogs. Whether it be a king-sized bed or a sleeping bag, the results are still the same, a cosmic black hole of dog flesh engulfing everything in its vicinity. Why do you think that I always wake up clutching the edge of the bed with my butt cheeks in a futile effort not to end up in the floor?

Ok, ok, point taken; so, what are the plans this weekend?

Well, Charles, there is a ADV motorcycle camp and ride up in the Ozarks that I had planned on us attending, but then we received word of that dog hoarding “situation” over in Ola, AR, and feel obligated to go over and lend a hand. There is also word of a possible need for a dog transport, but no specifics on that just yet. All I know is that I would feel like a special kind of turd if we were off having a grand time cruising around the mountains while others were dealing with situations like this right here in our own back yard. Not the fun weekend you had in mind, eh?

Are you kidding me, dad? We have fun everywhere we go; any amount of help that we can provide others, however small, is like the icing on the cake. And you know that that it always seems to turn out for the best, the greater the perceived sacrifice, the greater the the received blessing; sometimes right then, sometimes years down the road.

Charlie, you’re a special girl; I sometimes think I should have named you Karma, instead of CB…

Uh, dad, nice thought, but you’re forgetting that I named myself. After everything else is stripped away, I’m still the Motorcycle Dog. It all goes back to a raw day in January, a lonely road, a solitary crate, and a son who a short time before had saved the life of the father, a father that had no business even being out of bed, let alone ripping around on an old motorcycle. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

I don’t know if I would describe it as “funny”, but I will admit that it has been special; now, how’s about scooting over so I can finish rolling out of bed? Some of us have to go to work around here…

That’s OK, dad; I’ll just lay here and celebrate Charlie Bravo Day until you get home, or until mom discovers that I didn’t make it outside with the other dogs, whichever comes first.

Chark diem!

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