I place the bracelet on the windowsill, safely out of E’s reach. She’s looking through my jewelry, pulling out necklace after necklace, placing it on top of her head like it were a headband. She opens a red silk pouch and peers in, pulling out an earring and wearing it around her finger.
The bracelet catches glints of sunlight, four little letters spell out RUBY in cursive. I haven’t worn this bracelet since E was born and yet I remember the weeks after Ruby died, searching incessantly for a personalized piece of jewelry so I could wear her name on me.
I would imagine scenarios — ordering at a coffee shop, in line at the supermarket, a stranger asking me if my name was Ruby: no it’s for my dog, her name was Ruby, she recently passed. As if four little letters could ever capture the soul, spirit, the meaning of who Ruby was. What Ruby represented — the passing of time, growth, a deeply rooted love, deeper than I had ever known and that I believe laid the groundwork for Charlie’s arrival into my life and eventually to E’s.
It was the Friday before Memorial Day weekend and I was driving home after work when I saw a small black dog darting around the corner of Wilshire and Virgil in Koreatown. It seemed like he was chasing after a byciclist, his owner I thought. Random people tried to stop him as he ran at the speed of light into an empty parking lot (now a two story Target.)
I parked my car and without thinking walked into the empty lot. It was a sprawling piece of property, chainlink fencing, graffiti scrawled all over knocked down pieces of concrete, a group of teenagers hanging out on their skateboards, and standing right beside me was a woman — she had parked her black Prius a few feet away, her daughter was in the backseat, and in her hand she had a ziplock bag filled with deli meat.
I remember the little dog cowering, out of breath, he gave himself up allowing us to scoop him.
I can’t take him, I already have two dogs — the mom said. She advised me on what to do and gave me the deli meat. I grabbed a blanket from the trunk and placed the little dog, dirty with a patch of dried blood on his forehead, in the passenger seat, took a quick photo and texted it to J.
I took him to my vet, and after getting a full physical, she flat out told me to keep him.
Nobody’s going to be looking for him.
I let the dressing rain all over my salad. It probably has canola oil, an ingredient I used to avoid but now I close an eye to. I share the crisp lettuce with E, she loves reaching into my bowl with her fork and fishing out a slice of tomato or a chunk of cucumber. We crunch in unison.
A bird is bouncing around in the garden, it catches my eye. Looking for food probably.
I feel sullen. Lost in thought.
About a week ago, after a series of of very expensive tests, we got news that Charlie has Cushing’s disease. The gist of it is the pituitary gland in his brain is misfiring and it’s releasing too much cortisol into his system which explains his insatiable hunger. He’s literally starving and will bark, jump and anxiously wait until he gets his next meal. At this point he’s eating several (5-6) meals a day.
Besides taking capsules to address Cushing’s, Charlie also takes medication for his heart murmur, twice a day. I have to set a daily alarm or else I’d forget. Earlier this year, he was put on a special kidney diet since the vet spotted some unusual levels on his senior blood panel. Once a month, he gets a shot in his hips to help with joint stiffness.
I’ve mentioned it before, but my baby boy is possibly 15 to 18 years old, which would make him 76 to 84 in human years. Which is A LOT, he’s lived a long life and I’m grateful that I have been able to spoil him (at one point he had 5 beds — one in the kitchen, bathroom, around the kitchen counter closest to the dining table, upstairs in our bedroom, one by the couch), I’m grateful that I can bestow on him safety, love and he can sleep mostly unbothered (mostly because E can’t control herself from trying to pat his head or crawl into his bed when he’s not looking.)
But I see this diagnosis as a step closer towards the end. I’m not ready.
It’s only been 2 years since we lost Ruby.
And there’s so much life to live, so much of Charlie that E has to experience and vice versa. I once read that toddlers at this age (E is 17 months) either love or fear dogs and I can’t help but think Charlie has played a pivotal role in E’s comfort around dogs. In fact she loves all animals.
She squealed just this morning as a park squirrel stood mere inches away from us because it thought we had food and then scurried away when realized we were empty handed.
She greeted a large pitbull at the flea market last Sunday, he came right up to her and sniffed her hand.
I am scared of Charlie dying.
I am scared of how much it will hurt.
I am scared that I won’t be able to retreat because I have to care for someone else.
I am scared of crying nonstop like I am crying now.
I am scared of having to bury my feelings into a hole because my little girl won’t understand why her mummy is heartbroken.
I am scared of not having him by my side.
I wasn’t meant to keep Charlie.
In fact, J even said I better find him a new home since we already had Ruby. I was working on just that, designing flyers, chatting with a neighbor who rescues dogs when a friend of mine mentioned something that changed it all.
As long as you don’t have a name for him, you can give him away.
I had a name. I just hadn’t shared it with anyone.
It’s too late then, he’s yours.
I used to go to work in those early days bemoaning how hard it was, how guilty I felt at now having to love two dogs. I felt like I wouldn’t have enough love for both Ruby and Charlie. I was afraid of favoring one over the other. Ruby had come first, she was my one and only, and now I was adding another.
My coworker told me that it doesn’t work like that. She was a mother of two.
Your heart only gets bigger she said.
She was right.
Charlie’s presence only helped my heart grow even more.
And now it’s at the risk of breaking.
But that’s just it isn’t it.
There’s a wonderful person I follow on IG (@wolfgang2242 ) whose sole purpose is to adopt senior pets (mostly dogs but he also has ducks, a pig, bunnies, chickens.) Every time one of them passes, he writes a heartfelt post that literally brings me to tears. He shares their little quirks, what made them special and how hard it is to keep going. Several weeks pass by and he introduces us to a new member of the family. (If you ever decide to take a peek at his account, my favorite is Fernando!)
I know that Charlie, like Ruby, would like me to keep going. And I will, I have E now and eventually she’ll have her own pet to care for. And one day, she too will have to say goodbye.
It was one of the hardest things I ever went through saying goodbye to Ruby on that sunlit January morning. And yet two weeks later, I went to the museum, dressed all in black. And four months later, I was bestowed one of the greatest gifts — the news that I was pregnant with E.
Charlie is currently dozing off, sat right next to me, at my feet while I type this out. I love watching his round belly rise and fall with every breath. I love when he lets a tiny muffled bark out when he’s lost in a dream. Does he see another dog? Is he chasing after a squirrel? Or is E teasing him with a morsel of food?
I know most of my letters focus on E but this one is dedicated to my other love, my other baby, Charlie. And to borrow the words of Steve Greig, long may he live.
I felt this in my heart Joscelyne, your heart for Charlie so big and ever growing. How lucky you both found one another. Big love to you xx 💗💗
Truly a beautiful piece that's filled with a lot of love💓