Charlie’s Adventure

My names Charlie. Im a Labrador, a handsome lad that everyone fancies. Occasionally I get a bit fed up with the whole lot then I have to give a nip. Look after your rear ends! I also have a mistress, and I love her no matter what she gets up to. No arguments there. Love, and thats that.

She bought me when I was a onemonth old pup; she was 408 months old thats 34 years, if you dont want to dust off a calculator. The very next evening she was perched on the floor of our cramped twobedroom council flat, down her fourth glass of red wine, petting me while tears streamed down her cheeks:

Off you go, you mutt. I finally have a dog wholl never betray me. Tell me, Charlie, whats wrong with me? She muttered that her cooking was terrible, then signed up for a French cookery course. Since then shes stopped mumbling about it. Then she went on about my wardrobe, saying I waddled around in shapeless sacklike coats that made her feel embarrassed. She overhauled my whole closet, thanks to Mum and Gran who donated a mountain of clothes. She stopped looking at me altogether. Then she hinted at a love life, saying ours was dull while the movies showed passion and professionalism. What movies? I asked. I spent two months on YouTube watching tutorials on oral techniques, nearly went broke buying bananas for practice. Gran rescued me again, hauling two buckets of corn. All for him. And he left, that wretched chap. Charlie, youre my oneandonly. Dont ever leave me, okay?

I gazed into her redrimed eyes and licked her cheek. What else could I do? I could eat anything I wanted, even a hat and a pair of shoes, but a pups usefulness is limited. She hugged me and we fell asleep. I swear that red wine was to blame for everything.

As the little puddles I left on the floor grew, so did I. She poured every ounce of energy she had into caring for me. One day I saw a telly programme about fivestar Spanish resorts, the kind they call allinclusive. In that phase of our lives I lived the ultraallinclusive dream: fed till I burst, Saturday avocado treats, and no responsibilities whatsoever. Id see my mistress off to work each morning and wait for her return honestly, I mostly slept on my haunches. When she came back shed plant kisses on me and feed me minced meat. We were both happy. I love her with all my heart.

Then a bloke from work started showing up at the flat after the cinema, drinking red wine in the kitchen and then retiring to the bedroom. From the sounds I gathered she was enjoying herself. If she was happy, I was happy too. But the next morning she, for the first time in our whole life together, forgot to feed me. The shoes the bloke left as a gift were gone vanished. I wanted to punish the bloke, but she looked at him with such adoration that I reconsidered.

Turns out the bloke was a decent chap who brought me meat now and then. He hid my shoes in the fridge, oddly enough. He only visited at lunchtime and occasionally crashed over for the night. In the evenings my mistress was glued to her phone, chatting with him, and she grew more and more despondent. Weekends became a miserable tableau: shed stare at the screen while the cat prowled about. One night, during a floorlevel wineladen session, she petted me and sighed:

Oh Charlie, why does everything have to be like this? Hes married. A perfectly normal, understanding bloke, but hes got his own baggage. I thought maybe his presence would lift my spirits. I track every one of his Instagram likes, cant tear myself away from the phone. Im better than his wife, Charlie. Look at my chest a gift from fate. Im showing the doggy chest now. The holidays are coming, and you and I will be alone again.

She let out a quiet sob. Damned bloke, youre a parallel universe to me. She hugged me while I growled in spite.

The next day, the bloke arrived for lunch in a suit which he promptly lost in her bedroom. As soon as he vanished, I went to work. Every tear she shed would earn me a swift reply. Soon the suit was reduced to nothing but straps and legs. Luck struck when I found two phones charging on the floor his and hers. I chewed both up. No point staring at those things and crying later.

The bloke slipped out of the bedroom in his bathrobe, saw there was nothing left to wear and no phone, and started lashing at me with his leash. She screamed, trying to protect me. He shoved her aside, scooped me up, and shoved me into the boot of his car. I thought I was being taken to the dump, plotting how Id bite him when he got out. Instead, he dumped me in a veterinary clinic. They locked me in a cage, jabbed something into me, and I felt my strength drain. When I came to, a strange aunt was petting me through the bars and speaking into her phone:

What people, theyll take a dog, have a laugh, then think its not needed. Theyll bring it in, spend a thousand put it to sleep, dear. Right, Ill call you back.

She moved closer, one hand stroking, the other pointing a syringe at my side. I wasnt a fool; I got the picture. I felt sorry for my mistress how would she cope without me? A triple bark! Bye, world.

Suddenly the doors flew open and she burst in, eyes redrimed.

Stop! No, dont! Ive found you, Ive found you!

The aunt snarled, saying she wouldnt return the thousand, but we didnt have time for that. My mistress lunged at me, and I lunged at her.

Charlie, Ive been to every clinic! Forgive me, forgive me! Hear me?

They say dogs dont cry. Well, I did, once. Keep it to yourself. We got back home and fell asleep.

Later her boss gave her the sack the blokes doing, no doubt. My meat vanished from the menu, leaving me on porridge. I became a passive vegetarian. She didnt give up, though. We started jogging together each morning. Mostly I did the running while she admired the birch trees, catching her breath between each one. After a couple of months she was sprinting like a hare and had almost given up red wine, only sipping it when Gran brought over corn and old skirts.

She also signed up for a course shed always wanted flower arranging. I nudged her, suggesting a meat bouquet instead. A meat bouquet is the best thing on earth, I thought. But if she prefers petals, so be it. She filled our flat with bouquets and declared:

If nobody gives me flowers, Ill make my own and hand them out.

I caught her drift and, on our next run, presented her with a massive, green dandelion root. She praised the gift, hugged me, and planted a kiss on my nose.

Soon she landed a job in a flower shop, which made her overthemoon and me even happier. First, all the floral junk moved into the shop, turning our flat back into a proper home instead of a haystack. Second, the meat returned to my diet.

Two years later, Sergey turned up to fix the fridge and ended up staying. Sergeys a decent bloke, never gives her grief, and she laughs with him constantly. Then a tiny Sergey arrived a little pup. The mistress asked me to look after him too. How could I not? Im a dog, after all.