Good Ole Boy

     He was seventeen when I met him. His mistress was the relative of two clients.  Being sisters, I expected the women to be similar.  Not even close.  One was redhead and introverted with daughter exhibiting the same social phobia.  The elder was blond with a long career in banking.  My client for the weekend was the middle sister and she was raven-haired and a local celebrity artist, who lived on the Intracoastal Waterway.
     Her dog, Charlie was a white lab. He loved his routine and his people. They loved him too and knowing he would be happiest at home, called their veterinarian for a referral.
     When I received the phone inquiry, I was asked, "Do you do nails?" I replied that I did not offer grooming services and further explained that I scheduled multiple home visits during the day,

     His life was quiet and at the time we met, he was asleep in the middle of the family room.  He woke up long enough to check me out and went right back to his nap. During my first minutes of the interview, she asked me, "Do you mind cleaning up after him? He has lost control and has accidents; especially when he gets up from sleeping." This complication comes with caring for very old dogs like Charlie.  I answered that I didn't mind as long as cleaning supplies were available.

     After the first meal, Charlie wanted to go out. Being somewhat wobbly, we walked together
through the patio, around the corner, through the half swing gate, and onto the lawn. The green
extended right to the shoreline and he headed to the dock like he had done all his life. On the way,
he stopped and looked for the squirrels and was hopeful that they had missed some of the peanuts
under the oak tree.
     I let him off the leash and went back to the patio to grab a handful of dried corn cobs. The previous days supply needed replacing. He waited and stood looking at the water.  I imagined his long memory was his closest friend.  We spent maybe fifteen minutes before heading back inside. Charlie had enough fresh air and was anxious to return to his nap. Being able to stay with him for most of the day allowed me to monitor his activity level.  I was prepared for the inevitable, but he gave no sign of declining health.  He would look up to see if I was there and finding that I had not moved to another part of his house, continued to drift in and out of dreams.
     The few days we were together, that first job\ gave me a new appreciation for the ordinary life.
Charlie loved his routine; it was comfortable. We were a good fit. He was needing an understanding pet sitter. His physical challenges did not define him.  He had integrity and patience. We spoke the same language and it came from the heart.
     He had another full year of predictable days and I had the great privilege to care for him.  He was a gracious mentor; his life lessons stay with me still.
     From the 1895 Poem "Judge Softly" - by Mary T. Lathrap

"Pray, don’t find fault with the man that limps,
Or stumbles along the road.
Unless you have worn the moccasins he wears,
Or stumbled beneath the same load."

In this case, paw prints will do.