The Charlie Bravo Story

Can’t we all just get along?

I remember the words of Rodney King during the Los Angeles riots of 1992. I was a much snarkier version of the still snarky person I am today, and j remember making fun of Mr. King’s comment.

Boy, was he right, and I wrong.

Right now, we have six dogs and counting occupying the limited space of the Casa del Whackos. Of course, there’s Charlie Bravo, the self-assured diva who’s humble origins from being abandoned in a dog crate have not negatively colored her view of the world. Although she would be completely justified if her earlier life caused her to be bitter or withdrawn, who has time for that?

Then there is Micro Polo, the pocket Napoleon of the crew. He was just a wad of greasy hair and bones when he came to us, the result of a parent with Alzheimer’s who would forget to feed herself, and as a result, also forget to feed Marco. When you’re less than 7# to begin with, skipped meals begin to take their toll quickly. But while he has never really put on the lost weight despite our best efforts, he is now a whopping 5# of raw attitude, unless he’s wadded up between my legs or behind my neck; then he’s the meekest dog in all the earth.

Claire Bear; so traumatized by an unknown past life that she wouldn’t even walk through a doorway. We were told that there was no helping her; challenge accepted. Now she’s known as the Love Bully, as she annoys the other inmates to distraction with her total lack of space recognition, the ultimate sleeping partner. How do you get irritated by a dog that is not so desperate to get attention than she is to give it?

Ajax, the Terminally Jealous Terrier; he seems to think that the names of every other dog is his name as well, as he will magically appear directly in my face should I even THINK about conversing with another inmate. And don’t even try to speak whenever he is in one of his moods, which is always, as his anteater‐like tongue will shoot from his bewhiskered maw and perform a comprehensive dental exam before you can say “Bob’s your uncle”.

Mia the Spazcrobat and the Last of Her Name, mom’s dog, and the mom of the bunch as well; a Finnish Spitz with the unlikely combined character traits of ADD and target fixation.

And then there’s Titus Pullo, an absolute ox of a pitbull, basically a combination of assault rifle and bulldozer that you can pet. As the latest addition to the Casa and of a lineage known to strike fear into the hearts of the deliberately misinformed, it would have been easy for us to react from fear, or it him to “take over”. But we have found that dogs (and people, to some extent) respond instinctively to what we expect of them, and the massive beast has not given us an ounce of concern. Until he feels the urge to get him some lovin’s.

Then it’s time to be afraid; be VERY afraid..

But wait; I did say “six and counting”…
That would be because of Victor, the neighbor’s dog. This is the neighbor that runnoft some years ago, leaving us to care for St Echo of Cardiogram, the doberman. Echo became Alex”s dog and recently passed and isxsorely missed. Since then, the same neighbor moved back in to his/her old house, and the cycle is now repeating itself with Victor. Vic is a gargantuan dog of indeterminate ancestry, well advanced in years, and has taken to hanging out at the Casa during the prolonged absences at his own house. We need another massive mouth to feed like we need a hole in our heads, but whaddyagonnado? The answer is “all you can”. And I must admit that it is more than a little gratifying when I see the big lummox loping towards the Casa whenever he hears my motorcycle coming up the street; hey, it’s the little things in life that matter.

I will say that five bags of dog food mysteriously showed up at the Casa, shipped via Amazon without any indication as to who sent them, so if you’re reading this, please know that they showed up at a very opportune time, as unemployment is getting a bit “monotonous”, for lack of a better word; muchas gracias.

So, what’s the whole point? Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you; while all of these goofy dogs are as different as night and day, no matter what their differences, THEY GET ALONG. They all came to the Casa in search of a refuge, but left their negative baggage behind them; even the dumbest dog I have ever had possessed enough common sense to know that you don’t crap where you now sleep.

So I’m imploring you: think before you post, or better yet, don’t post at all if you can’t focus on the 80٪ that unites us instead of the 20٪ that divides us. Republicrat, Demolican, pro-gun, anti-vacc, the list goes ever on, each group using labels to conceal their own real identities as effectively as a wad of white supremacists or Antifa bullies lurking on proverbial street corners just waiting to assault anyone passing by who is a bit too good-natured to stand up to them? A bully is a bully, regardless who’s behind the mask, and the various media outlets are the biggest bullies of them all; we have to stop letting them steal our joy, shaking us down for the last of our lunch money. It’s only Tuesday, and we still have the rest of the week before us.

Now, more than ever, Charlie’s message rings true: we all inhabit our own personal crates, and you can’t help others escape theirs if you refuse to come out of yours.

We be of one blood, ye and I.

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