The Charlie Bravo Story

My Story Begins Here…

Dad here. On a cold, raw day in January, my son Zach and I were making a high speed pass through a rural area east of Little Rock when we spotted a dog crate partially hidden in the weeds beside the road. Something – or Someone – made us stop and check the crate. What we found was beyond horrible... A full sized dog reduced to a ragged, scabby skeleton, smelling so strongly of death…

No, no, no…

Dad here; today, mom, Marco and I are heading north into the land where a "Coke" is called a "pop". We are on our way to Illinois for the unexpected funeral of one of the finest men I've ever known, my brother, Junior Daves. When we received word that he had died in his sleep, I was alarmed that I actually felt no grief; there are much worse ways to go than passing away gently.…

The Zia

Mom is enroute from North Carolina to the Casa to escape Hurricane Dorian, but is inseta bringing with her Hurricane Titus and tropical storm Oba; dad and I are making the necessarily last minute preparations. We have our evacuation route planned in case inland flooding makes cohabitation impossible; stay tuned for the latest weather updates as these storms move slowly but inexorably westward. Dad and I were out buying emergency supplies yesterday when we heard…

Sleeping with a cat

I did a very bad thing... Something so heinous that I had to wait until I had reached the ripe old age of fifty-seven to stoop to the level of debauchery that was achieved last night. And did this happen in the bedroom? Oh no, an act this reprehensible must take place in a suitable place, in this case, the garage. I slept with a cat. Don't judge me too harshly, although the dogs all…

Senor Don Gato de Diablo

Does it ever stop? The stories keep coming so hard and fast that I can't keep up with them; I have great news from Last Chance Rescue concerning Lady Madonna and her octet of nipple magnets, but that will have to wait... I walked out on the back porch to check the hummingbird feeders, er, to swat the little ingrates away, when I heard a kitten crying. Cats are not a common occurence around the…

I am first a dog

Right now, I am embracing my inner redneck: sitting on the couch with a busted collarbone, watching a documentary about Lynryd Skynyrd and watching three pit bulls reenact the Battle of Bitey Mouth on the living room floor. What makes it even more damning is that I have pushed the coffee table out of the way so they would have a better arena to display their utter foolishness; why is it that dogs always wait…

The aftermath

Waking up at zero dark thirty, feeling as battered as French toast, waiting for the Oxy fairy to wave her magic wand and take the edge off of this pain. Jo Ann is a saint; what more can be said? There's not another like her. I remember seeing those brake lights come on and thinking, "yep, I'm fixing to get up close and personal with that there back window"; as it turned out, it was…

End of an era

A week ago last Friday, I took the mighty Suzuki DR650 out for a spin. It was for purely scientific purposes, of course, to determine the extent of my recovery from the injuries suffered in Colorado, the results of an involuntary dismount. All went well until I pulled up into the garage, and there it was: my headlight reflecting off of two accusatory canine eyeballs peering through the window. Did I say eyeballs? Actually, they…
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