The Charlie Bravo Story


Stop the doomscrolling

Dad here; a major thunderstorm is currently pummeling the Casa with a metric ton of rain, thunder, and high winds. A loud crash just came from the back porch, where one of the metal panels was ripped free and tossed onto the roof for me to deal with in the morning, but do you think for a minute that the dogs are worried? Not on your life; the only thing that concerns them is who can be the most effective in triggering my claustrophobia.

I could learn a lot from them. The storm raging outside is much like the cacophony of chaos that is force-fed to us through our phones on a daily basis. And while I know this, the urge to return once again to the trough for another heaping serving of slop is somehow overwhelming.

When we found Charlie back in 2015, I thought the negativity on social media was bad; I had no idea how toxic it was to become. This was the reason that the Charles began posting back then, to provide a non-Hallmarky oasis from the constant bickering and bad news that permeated “social” media. Many began following her words as an animal rescue story, but for me, it was much more than that; it was also a people rescue story. People could be reminded through the words of a previously emaciated dog that their seemingly insignificant actions could have such a great impact to those less fortunate around them.

And it’s still true today. As debilitating as the bad news is on the interweb, I think that even more toxic is the envy that is promoted; “comparison is the thief of joy”. It’s difficult to be truly mindful of what we each have and also have to offer when being bombarded by images of hot bodies cavorting about on Tik Tok and all the latest trends that tend to leave me feeling like a fossilized fud.

But then I look around me. I see the goodness in people reflected in your comments on Charlie’s posts. I see an awesome grandson, and another on the way. I see a wife that beat cancer another lifetime ago. I see(and smell and hear) a bunch of snoring, farting dogs around me, taking up all the prime real estate on the bed although the storm rages on outside.

And guess what? I wouldn’t trade what I have for all the hoochie mamas and blinged-out excess on the planet, and you shouldn’t either. We all matter, regardless of the color of our skins, the size of our respective 401k’s, or what mile marker we are at on our personal journeys.

We just need reminded now and again…

We be of one blood, ye and I.

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