Chas a Dog

Chas A Dog (1000 words)

Chas. An irritable, old Lhasa Apso. A thousand-year-old breed that served as palace and monastery guards in the Himalayas. They were not known for gentleness. Lhasa Apso, Chas was all that and more. I pity the monks who had to deal with him or rather, put up with his ancestors. He didn’t have much personality, just anger, mistrust and poor eyesight. All of this was shown to me the day I reached into his kennel and he bit the tip of my finger nearly off, a truly painful experience.

His mom person was an older lady named Babs. She thought the world of him, because when she had a fall once, he stayed by her side until help arrived. He had shown a real deep concern about her wellbeing. He was upset. I also feel certain that it was nearly his feeding time.

Even so. My wife and I continued to groom Chas every eight weeks. My finger was repaired by a great hand surgeon and grew back rather quickly. We felt sorry for the dog and his owner. No one else dared to get near him. Also, we discovered what he hated most was kennels. We worked on two tables in our basement. One for drying and a smaller one for grooming.

He enjoyed getting a bath and wasn’t too bad with drying. We left him sitting on the drying table and he was a whole different dog. Even though his eyesight was poor he could see over to the other grooming table and he liked to just lay or sit there and watch the other dogs. He was tethered to the pole so he couldn’t fall off and he seemed happy. We were amazed and pleased. He always left feeling better.

One late Autum day we received a phone call from Babs.

“Chas is not doing well. He’s not eating or drinking and he’s whining a lot. I think it’s time to say goodbye to him.”

We felt terrible as we would with any dog. We knew he was not in good shape from his last groom. He went through a bad seizure on the grooming table. We had learned to really like Chas. This was difficult to hear. Babs continued.

“Will you take him to the vet? I just don’t have the heart to do it.”

I heard myself saying, “Sure Babs, tomorrow at four o’clock if that’s ok.”

“That will be fine. I’ll have all day to say goodbye to him.”

I drove over to pick up Chas and take him to the vet. The irony of the situation with me taking him to his final moment in life was on my mind. I even had the same kennel he was in when he bit my finger.

Babs came to the door with Chas on a leash. Obviously, she’d been crying.

“He seems to be a bit better today. But I know it’s time. Here you take him.”

I persuade Chas into the kennel, making certain the leash was left hanging out through the door. I wait for Babs. She sees me waiting and speaks.

“You can go ahead and take him. We said all our good-byes.”

“Okay Babs.”

It’s only a couple of miles to the vet. We arrived early at 4:30. I took the kennel out of the front seat and set it on the ground. I decide to let Chas out of the kennel to relieve himself and see one last sunset. He seemed quite agreeable as he came out of the kennel and did his business on one of the many bushes.

We both walked up on a small rise to watched the sun drop behind the far horizon. I looked down at Chas and he was indeed watching the sunset. I had a sudden thought that us standing there watching the sunset would make a great painting. It could be titled “Final Sundown.”

“Ok Chas, come on let’s go. Back in the kennel.” Surprisingly, he seemed to understand and easily went into the wire cage. I carried him into the vet’s office and was asked to take a seat. They knew he was coming and why.

“The doctor is ready for Chas now.” Said the lady at the front desk.

I picked up the kennel and walked into the surgery room. There were three attendants there to assist with holding Chas. I set the cage up on the table.

“How are we going to get him out of that kennel?” asked an attendant.

“I can get him out.” I volunteered.

I opened the door and tugged on the leash. “Come Chas, come on. That’s a good boy.”

He seemed to understand and did not object to exiting the kennel. I offered to hold him for the procedure but was turned down.

“Thanks for offering but we’ve got him.” Said the attendant.

I stepped back with the kennel just as the vet came in holding a syringe. All three attendants were holding the dog securely. The doctor reached over and grabbed Chas’ front left leg and quickly stuck in the needle. Surprisingly Chas did not object. The dog tried to look around at everybody but they were holding him fast. He then put his head down and appeared to fall asleep. A few minutes went by and he looked to be at peace.

In a couple of minutes more, the doctor listened with his stethoscope and announced.

“His heart has stopped beating, he’s gone. As I like to say, you just can’t cure old age.” The attendants were gone in an instant and it was just me, the vet, and the remains of Chas.

I stepped up to the table and gently stroked him. Then I lifted his head and gave him a big kiss.

“At least I can kiss you now.” Was my last statement to Chas. The vet picked him up and was out of the room in a flash.

I grabbed the wire kennel and was out the door.