My Dog Chuck

My Dog Chuck

One sunny afternoon I took the Queen streetcar eastbound and got off on River Street. That's where the city pound was and I was going there to adopt a dog. I never had a dog before and till this day I don't know what possessed me. I didn't even have any specific kind of breed or mix in mind, big or small, black or brown; I hadn't given it much thought. But the pound was a very depressing place and as I entered I could hear howling and barking, and then came the smell of waste and disinfectant. Looking round not knowing where to begin, over in the next aisle I could hear people talking:

"Oh my god, look at that dog over there; he's so ugly! He's the ugliest dog I ever did see!"

"Eegaads! And just look at the size of those teeth, and they're crooked!"

Curious to see what the ugliest dog might look like, I sauntered over to his cage. When I stooped to take a look what I saw was the most adorable little thing. He had a brown square head sort of like a bull terrier and his body was a jet black with white spots, possibly from some border collie, and there seemed to be Shih Tzu in there too. His eyes were big and round the color of beer and he had the floppiest ears. He was standing there with his nose poking through the cage door My Dog Chuck wagging his tail. And he was making little whimpering sounds and his tongue was hanging out. On his chart it read: Stray. Approximately five years old. Forty pounds. No name.

Without a second thought I decided this would be my dog. After signing some forms and paying the adoption fee, I leashed him up and led him out the door.

"First thing's first," I said to him, looking down. "We've got to give you a name. Chuck. That's your new name. You look like a Chuck to me."

My apartment was small but cozy above a flower shop overlooking a busy street. I didn't have much furniture and most of my tables were discarded wooden crates I found in Chinatown. But I had a rather comfortable sofa and with two matching chairs. I also had a small desk where I liked to do some writing but I had no television. Chuck was hungry so I poured him a bowl of milk and then I made him a sardine sandwich.

I said to him, "Sorry that the sardines are in tomato sauce, Chuck. I hope you don't mind tomato sauce."

Chuck was proving to be a good dog and I really couldn't find a flaw in him, and we got along splendidly. He even appeared very well trained: if he wanted to drink he let out a whine; if he wanted to relieve himself he scratched at the door; if he wanted to go for a walk, he jumped for his leash in the hallway and then ran up and down with it. He turned out to be an outstanding guard dog too. If someone knocked on the door or the telephone rang, he barked up a storm and sometimes the hairs on his back stood on end. And he loved taking the fire escape up to the roof at night to look at the stars where he would howl at the moon.

But I soon came to learn Chuck had a mind of his own and that he was more energetic than I realized.

One evening, as I hurried out the door to a local café to meet up with a friend, I said to Chuck, "Chuck, you be a good boy. I'll be back in a couple of hours." But I had forgotten to close the kitchen window. For Chuck what a stroke of luck, what an opportunity! When I got home, he was gone. I became frantic. I looked everywhere in the neighborhood, I shouted out his name, and I asked people if they had seen a dog around matching his description. But no one had seen him. When I got back home the phone rang.

"Hi, it's me, Jill. Guess who's at my house? Chuck. I gave him a bone and he's in my living room right now chewing on it."

"Chuck at Jill's house?" I thought. I couldn't believe it! He had traveled half way across town to be with Jill, of all people. I became cross, even a little jealous. Then I thought to myself, "Maybe it's my fault, maybe Chuck just doesn't like the dog food I bought him."