Chuckie boy

Alright- this puts it into perspective. You know Charlie? My buddy? His pictures below- he’s around 11 or so. That’s almost 80 to you and me.
He’s feeling the aches and pains of growing old, he spends most of the day just lying around watching TV and sleeping.
Sad to say, I don’t think he has much time left. He spent some time as a youngster in the Doggie Big House, was abused as a child, ran with the wrong crowd.

But since his parole, he has led the straight and narrow. With the exception of an eaten car seat and the occasional trip down garbage can alley, he’s been a good guy.

I have been rooming with him longer than I’ve been married. Over 10 years he’s been by my side- a loyal side kick and drinking partner. Me with the bourbon and branch water, Chuck with the kibble and toilet water.

I had the idea that, when his time comes, I’d have him stuffed. Maybe pose him on all fours, put Velcro patches on his sides to hold the remote, a small plank inserted into his back as a little cocktail table. Or maybe standing upright, with his lips pulled up exposing his teeth Cujo style as a burglar deterrent.

Anyway, I thought that was a great idea- a fitting memorial to an old pal.

Like most things in my life, this was evidently not correct. I know that because Mrs. Mattybalou said so. And she’s always right. Ask her. She’ll tell you.

Then I saw this: Dead Teenager Kept in Home 36 Years

Suddenly, I don’t think I was so wrong.

Come to think of it, I have an uncle who aint looking so hot and I need a new sofa.