Charlie: A Tale of Adventure and Whimsy

My names Charlie. Im a Labrador, a friendly chap that everyone takes to. Sometimes, truth be told, Ive got enough of the whole lot and have to give a little nip. Mind your rear ends! Ive also got a mistress, and I love her whatever she is and whatever she does. No point debating that I love her, thats all.

Emily Clarke bought me when I was a month old; she was thirtyfour, so there was a fair age gap. Dont bother with a calculator, Ill do the maths for you. The very next evening she was sitting on the floor of our twobedroom council flat in Manchester, nursing her fourth glass of red wine, stroking my head and weeping:

Well, screw it. Ive got a dog now, hell never betray me. Tell me, Charlie, whats wrong with me?

She muttered that her cooking was subpar, so she signed up for a French cooking course. After that she stopped mumbling about it. Then she started nitpicking my wardrobe, saying I looked like a sack of potatoes in the drab robes Id been wearing. She overhauled the whole closet with help from her mum, Margaret, and her grandma, Ethel, who handed over a heap of their own clothes. She stopped looking at me the way she used to. Then she dropped a hint about sex, saying our life was dull, that movies were different people brought soul and professionalism to the act. What movies? I asked, having spent two months on YouTube watching tutorials on oral sex, nearly going broke on banana props. Again, Ethel pitched in, bringing two buckets of corn for the project. The bloke walked out, that swine. Charlie, youre my one and only. Dont ever leave me, alright?

I stared into her reddened eyes and lapped her cheek. What else could I do? I could happily chew through a hat and a pair of boots, but a pups usefulness is limited. She hugged me and we fell asleep. I told myself the red wine was to blame for everything.

As the little puddles I left on the floor of our flat grew, so did I. Emily poured all her energy into caring for me. Id catch a telly programme about fivestar Turkish resorts advertising allinclusive packages. During that phase of our lives I was living the ultraallinclusive dream fed until I was bursting, avocado on Saturdays, and no responsibilities beyond escorting Emily to work in the mornings and waiting for her to come back. Honestly, I spent most of that waiting time napping on my haunches. When she returned shed kiss me, toss me bits of mince, and we were both content. I loved her with all my heart.

Then a bloke from her office showed up one evening after a cinema outing. He and his mate knocked back a few glasses of red wine in the kitchen and retired to the bedroom. From the sounds it seemed she was enjoying herself. If she was happy, I was happy too. The next morning, for the first time since wed been together, she forgot to feed me. The blokes boots answered the slight they disappeared. I wanted to give the bloke a lick of his own, but she looked at him with such affection that I held back.

The bloke turned out to be a decent fellow who brought meat home. He stashed the boots in the fridge, oddly enough. He only visited at lunchtime and occasionally stayed over. In the evenings Emily was glued to her phone, apparently texting him. She grew more and more sullen. Weekends became a pipedream: shed sit staring at her screen while a scruffy cat prowled about. One night, as she stroked me, she sighed:

Oh, Charlie, why does everything have to be this way? Hes married, a proper, understanding man with a dowry. I thought being with him would lift my spirits. I track every like he gets on Instagram, never put my phone down. Im better than his wife, Charlie. Look at my chest its a gift from fate. Im showing it off to a dog now. The holidays are coming, and you and I will be alone again.

She broke down in quiet tears. Damned bloke, I thought, youre nothing but a parallel line. She hugged me, and I growled with resentment.

The following day the bloke arrived for lunch in a suit, only to lose the suit just as he stepped into her room. As soon as he was out, I set to work. Every tear she shed would be answered. Soon his suit was reduced to nothing but a few ribbons and cuffs. Luck smiled when I found two phones charging on the floor his and hers. I chewed both to bits. No point staring at those things and sobbing all night.

The bloke stormed out of the bedroom in his robe, saw there was nothing left to wear and no phone, and started whipping me with his leash. Emily screamed, trying to protect me. He shoved her aside, scooped me up, dumped me into his cars boot, and drove off. I imagined Id be taken to the woods, planning to pounce when the car stopped, but instead he hauled me to a clinic. They locked me in a cage, gave me a jab, and my strength faded. When I came to, a stranger a woman in a lab coat was petting me through the bars and babbling into her phone:

What are these people, bringing a dog in for a show? Theyll toss a grand at us put the poor thing to sleep, love. Ill call you back.

She leaned closer, one hand stroking my head, the other pointing a syringe at my side. Im not a fool; I understood everything. My heart ached for Emily. Triple bark, bark, bark! That was it, world.

The doors burst open and Emily herself sprinted in, eyes bloodshot:

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

The lab tech huffed, muttering that shed never get her grand back, but we didnt have time for that. Emily 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. Ill be damned. That was the one time I actually wept. Keep it to yourself. We trudged back home and collapsed into sleep.

***

Later Emily lost her job the bloke had a hand in that. My diet lost the meat, leaving me on porridge. I became a passive vegetarian. She didnt give up. We started jogging together each morning. Mostly I did the running; she admired the budding birches along the route, paused to catch her breath, then kept moving to the next tree. After a couple of months she was sprinting like a hare. She almost gave up red wine, only sipping it when Grandma Ethel brought over corn and old-fashioned skirts.

Emily also went back to school the one shed always wanted to study floral arrangements. I hinted that a bouquet of meat would be the finest thing on earth. Since she preferred flowers, I went along. I littered our flat with bouquets and declared:

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

She got the hint, and on the next run I presented her with a large, green, roottangled burdock. She praised the gift, hugged me, and kissed my snout.

Soon she landed a job at a flower shop, which thrilled both of us. First, all the floral clutter moved into her workplace, turning our flat back into a decent home rather than a hayloft. Second, the meat made its way back into my bowl.

Two years later, a bloke named Simon turned up fixing our fridge and eventually stayed. Simons a top lad he never gives Emily grief; they laugh together all the time. More recently, a tiny lad called Jamie arrived. Emily asked that I look after him too, and I obliged. After all, Im a dog.