Charlie Goes To The Hospital

As you may remember,we have a dog.  A dog named Charlie.  Charlie is a retired explosive detection dog... a bomb dog.  Charlie has been with us since November, shortly after I ran into his handler in the hall where I work, and he told me his dog had to be retired and needed a good home.

Since Charlie came home to live with us, he has adjusted quite well and is enjoying his post-career life, settling into the role of "cuddle-buddy" and best pal for the ladies in our home.  Charlie isn't overly aggressive, he doesn't bite, he only barks at anything he thinks might be an intruder and that rarely.

Charlie has a problem.

In order to keep their working drive, police dogs are rarely neutered, and so it is with Charlie, and this is a problem.

We pretty much understood when, from time to ti,e, Charlie would er... unholster his weapon.  I mean, it is only natural.  We understood the occasional "let-me-hump-the-couch-leg" incident.  We have however gotten to a "last straw" incident.

Last week, after soccergirl went upstairs to read before bed, she came back downstairs to the kitchen where I was chatting with Mrs GF.  SG was obviously upset and literally wringing her hands.  She was trembling as she said: "daddy... Charlie, and my lion... in the bathroom, and he.... he... he''" she couldn't finish.  I thought that Charlie must have gone nuts and torn her stuffed animal to bits.  I ran up the stairs to find Charlie, looking like he needed a cigarette, lying on sg's bathroom floor, next to the lion.  Please note that the lion is around three feet tall.... and was a bit of a mess.  Yeah.  That kind of a mess.

Charlie... everybody's buddy, had... um... gone to town with the stuffed lion, and my 11 year old kid saw it.

Dude.

Well, to make an uncomfortable story somewhat shorter (but no less uncomfortable), I took Charlie to the vet last week for shots and a consultation about neutering, and in a half hour, I will be leaving the house to take Charlie to do exactly that.

Charlie is laying next to me as I type this on a fine May morning... and he has no idea what's coming.  I almost feel sorry for him.

I'll let you know how things progress.