The Charlie Bravo Story

The end of an era

It has been a while since a true “Sunday post” here at the Casa del Whackos; life has been coming so hard and fast that it has been difficult to back up and process the insanity.

We had some visitors from up north yesterday who did us the inestimable honor of sacrificing their vacation to come meet Charlie; of course, the Charles found nothing odd about this in the least, as everyone that shows up at the Casa is here for to pay homage, as far as she is concerned. This is not just visitors, but myself and mom as well; I swear that she is such a diva that you would think that it was Beyonce herself who goes scooting across my threadbare carpet, not some refugee from a stinking crate.

Since the death of my dad, there has been very little weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but trust me, the void is still there. It seems that we’re trudging through cold molasses, everything taking a bit more effort than it used to: this is a bit odd, as he had been sidelined long before being removed permanently from the game. Nothing has really changed, but then again, everything has.

The end of an era seems to be a bad thing, but the end of one always seems to make way for the beginning of another. But the scary thing is:

“What’s next?” And the answer is always the same, “who really knows?”

We were talking with our visitors yesterday about the burden that some of us seem to place on ourselves; animal rescue, people rescue, being a chauffeur to a diva of a dog, sometimes the demands come so hard and fast that we feel overwhelmed. This is compounded by the fact that people with our calling often have to do the hard things, sometimes being forced to take actions that would appear heartless to the uninitiated, so we labor alone. Sometimes all you can do is the best you can do for as long as you can do it, then lay awake at night trying to figure out how to do more.

So, then the stress begins to build, and we start thinking that it might be time to withdraw a bit; you know, recharge the batteries, get a fresh start, maybe back up a little and let someone else carry the torch, right?


We all think that, but what happens when we get that reprieve, and things seem to go smoothly for a while? I don’t know about you, but I start feeling pretty dang useless. And how far do you back up before you have found that you have in fact backed out, rejoining the multitudes of mindless automatons marching lockstep to the cadence set by those who would have us believe that our actions don’t matter?

Service every need as it arises and you will find your ministry; yours, not someone else’s. Just because your calling may be different than mine does not make it any less vital, and vice versa. If all the crayons in the box were the same color, the resulting picture would be pretty non-descript and boring.

But some of us take the concept a step farther, forsaking the prescribed boundaries set by the creator of a particular coloring book in favor of the uncharted territory offered by a blank canvas. To be able to imagine a finished product where some see only emptiness is a great gift in and of itself, regardless of whether the project actually bears fruit.

So don’t quit; as it just so happened on that cold, dreary, day in January when we first spotted the the Queen’s crate:

The life you save may be your own.

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