I’m sitting here writing this with nine dogs around me. Nine. Each one with their own quirks, their own little issues, and their own kind of magic. And I think that’s what amazes me most about dogs… there are thousands of breeds, but not one is exactly the same.
Kind of like us.
We all carry our own fears, our own confidence… and our own light.
But in this house, one little dog somehow rises above the rest.
Charlie Chuck.
Charlie came to us over six years ago from my favorite rescue, St. Francis CARE. I was doing what I always do—scrolling through Facebook, stopping at every dog, sharing every face, hoping someone sees what I see.
And then I saw him.
Seven pounds of chihuahua… with something else mixed in. Something a little sad… but still holding on to a spark.
I shared his picture like I always do, never thinking twice.
But that night, after supper, Mike casually said, “I really like that little dog you shared.”
Now if you know my husband, you know… that doesn’t happen.
Ever.
So suddenly I’m trying to act calm while internally panicking… what dog was it?! I’m scrolling like a madwoman, and there he was. Charlie.
I tried to play it cool.
“Oh yeah… he’s cute. Might need medical care. Injured leg…”
Mike says, “Why don’t you find out more about him?”
My heart just about stopped.
Because when Mike says that… it’s serious.
The next morning couldn’t come fast enough. I called as soon as they opened and went to meet him. When Charlie walked into that little room, I knew. He was exactly what I expected—full of life, a little firecracker… but carrying something heavy, too.
His back leg had been broken. No one really knew how. The plan was to amputate.
I asked if we could try therapy first. Just give him a chance.
They said yes.
The next day, after his surgery, we went to bring him home. And let me tell you something—I thought that dog loved me.
I was wrong.
The second he saw Mike, those tiny little feet ran as fast as they could straight into his arms. Just like that… the sadness lifted.
Charlie had found his person.
And it wasn’t me.
To this day, he still waits by the window for Mike to come home.
Now… introducing Charlie to the rest of the pack?
Let’s just say… bold would be an understatement.
This seven-pound dog walked in like he owned the place. And honestly… he still thinks he does.
I’ve had a lot of dogs in my life, but Charlie?
Charlie is something else.
He’s confident… proud… and just a tiny bit unhinged.
Okay, maybe more than a tiny bit.
He is the only dog who has ever run me out of my own kitchen.
I brought him a nice little bed, set it down, and when I walked near it—he came flying out like a gremlin, screaming like I had personally offended his entire bloodline.
Oh no, sir. Not in my house.
So began the great “bed showdown.”
Me lifting the bed.
Him claiming the bed.
Me lifting it again.
Him growling like a possessed potato.
It took a while… but eventually, Charlie learned I was the alpha.
(He still occasionally likes to double-check that.)
When the shelter called to check on him, they gently suggested we could return him because of his “aggressive tendencies.”
Return him?
Not a chance.
Because what I saw wasn’t a bad dog.
I saw a scared little soul who had decided the only way to survive was to be bigger than he was.
And over time… oh, how he proved us right.
His leg healed. No amputation needed. He runs like a wild man in the yard, only showing a little limp when it’s cold.
His attitude?
Still strong. Still bossy. Still very much in charge of everyone… including dogs ten times his size.
He steals things, runs behind the chair, and dares you to come get them like it’s a full-blown duel.
And every night?
He burrows under the covers like the king he believes he is.
These days, he’s slowing down a little. There’s some gray on his face… a little cloudiness in his eyes. Some nights, he seems to drift off somewhere far away, and I wonder if he’s remembering things we’ll never know.
But when I talk to him… really talk to him…
he comes back.
Back to us.
Back to this life.
Back to this home he once fought so hard to control… and now, I hope, has learned to love.
Oh, Charlie…
Our home will be quieter without you someday.
A little less fiery.
A little less… you.
And I’m not ready for that.
Not even close.
So for now, you stay right there—
under the covers,
ruling your kingdom.
And we’ll just keep loving you… exactly as you are.
