Charlie's Brother & Sister

September was her birthday. To insure my intentions wouldn't infringe on her birthday celebration, I chose to propose two days prior.  She agreed to make me the luckiest man on the planet, and I was ecstatic.
Weeks later she would begin a dream career working for Sandals resorts. She was to be gone over three weeks to their "boot camp" training. It would be our longest time apart since we met. It would be difficult, but I knew we would persevere.

We spoke every night on the phone. We missed each other fiercely. I understood how much this job meant to her, and I was focused on being a success in my career as well. However, for me it was business as usual; for her it was back to work, in a completely different country, after a long period out of the work force following the passing of her father.  I tried to offer up every bit of support I could muster to bolster her resolve to be successful no matter what. I believe in her; she is truly a remarkable woman. She often needs reminded of that. 

Each night on the phone she would explain how she missed her bed, and that, while this training was in a paradise of sorts, it was far from a vacation. Daily, she said that she was in pain; that pain seemed to crescendo with each day having a higher peak than the one before. The physical pain she was feeling was something much more invasive than a homesickness. She was experiencing serious and sinister pain that seemed aligned to a noxious period. My attempts to quell her pain with reassurances that she was strong and tough were to no avail. She wept on the phone with me from a thousand miles away; with exhaustive efforts, I tried to remain the positive and empowering partner I have always promised to be. All the while, I felt powerless to deliver any relief, and it was torturous being unable to dry her tears with my embrace. I felt helpless. 

She called the next morning saying she was losing copious amounts of blood, causing dizziness and disorientation. Fearing this was a much more serious situation, her employers booked her on the earliest flight home to seek the counsel of her physician. Her mother picked her up from the airport, and brought her to the doctor. They ran numerous tests revealing multiple cysts on her ovaries and fibroids in her uterus to be the culprits to blame for her bleeding, the faintness, and distention. They gave her a few options to marginalize the pain to a level of manageability, but the only total solution would render her barren and unable to have children. 

She waited until I returned home from work. Seeing her always sets my heart racing, but her eyes were dull, and I could tell she was in an exorbitant amount or pain. I wrapped my arms around her, reducing her to tears. I held her for a long time, and as her tears waned she spoke. She explained the options that the doctors had given her, though, in more desolate terms than I can imagine the physician had used. As she described the alternative that would be most effective, she was unable to complete the sentence that would convey our inability to bear children. 

In a previous life, she had been a business professional, travelling across the country pursuing her various means of success. She, like me, was unable to hold a steady relationship, so children were always a far cry from an attainable reality. Finding one another seemed to have ignited that spark. The various tragedy and triumph of our professional and personal lives had projected us on this path where we would meet at the perfect time. I never saw her coming; she completely blindsided me. It is difficult to explain, but this woman has made me believe in things I could've never imagined possible. That possibility echoed in her demeanor as well. We have truly saved one another. She had never considered bearing children before she met me. Now, she wanted it all. We wanted all of it, the dream. The world of possibility she had opened for me was, in some unfathomable way, connected to the one I represented to her.

A lifetime spent unaware of her existance had resigned me to believing someone like her couldn't exist, not in this world of mine. Whether it was fate, some glorious aligning of the stars, or a beautiful stroke of luck I will be forever grateful I was able to have anything to do with her life. To me it was an easy decision. I had finally found her, and I wouldn't want to risk losing her in an effort to bring new life into this world. It felt like my life had just begun. However, I understand the subversive nature of infertility. People tend to blame themselves, doctors are able to discern through science the nature of the issues, but the emotional and cultural significance of infertility is innate and far-reaching. A woman's ability to reproduce is a magical power that they possess. It is an absolute miracle of the world we live in, and to dream about that through youth, adolescence, and adulthood seeds the idea deep within the subconscious. To have that ability plucked from one's repertoire, breaks loose all the emotional roots it had anchored itself therewith. Thus, this "decision" was more complicated from her perspective; such an intricately interwoven complexity was difficult for me to comprehend. 

Her health is the most important thing to me, but the rectification of this physical ailment would coax forth an onslaught of sentient traumas she would have to endure. It would be an agony I could only distantly experience empathetically. My appeal that we would lean towards one another for strength was met with ardent reluctance, but it would fortify our connection. I constantly remind her that if she sees me running, it will always be toward her. Our agreed upon solution was to become pet parents. We are both dog people. She has always loved Doodles. I was unaware of such breeds, but was quickly educated by my beautiful bride-to-be. Our text feed would be few words interspersed in a field of photos of Goldendoodles, Labradoodles, Sheepadoodles, Irish Doodles, and a host of other "doodles" that I have since lost track of. All but the Bernedoodle bear little to no significance. What's a Bernedoodle?
She found Charlie on a local breeder's Facebook page. He did not bear that name yet, but if he was going to be in our family he would share our last name, so Charlie Brown was an easy sell for me. Boy or girl we were naming our pup Charlie. We both just fell in love with the pictures the breeder had of him. We were in the middle of closing on our home, and we could ill afford any extraneous expenses. As much as I felt having a puppy to love and care for would help to satiate that motherly desire she was so graciously parting with, this home would have to take precedent. She would agree with much hesitation. I simply told her our Charlie would need a home to live in, and that seemed to pacify for the moment.

We closed November 1st. We spent the first couple weeks merging our single lives into the place that is now our home. With the closing behind us, the Charlie propaganda was in full effect. The photos in our text feed exploded. It was time. Understanding the damage and destruction that generally accompanies the presence of a puppy, had me concerned for the first time of the toll our "Charlie" may have on our new home. Torn between that concern and my desire to deliver this fur-baby to this expectant mother, I pondered of a scheme to enhance said delivery to an elevated level of special that this woman truly deserved. 

Thanksgiving ushered in a four-day weekend from work. The dialogue that dominated our conversations pitted her appealing to all the great reasons we should have a dog, and me taking the opposing position that now wouldn't be the most ideal time. We were lounging, digesting the afternoon's meal that Sunday. I was between a nap and watching football. She had her head in my lap, phone in hand, and scrolling through a sea of available doodles. I saw the smile on her face, and my defenses failed. I made up an excuse to leave the house.

I contacted Charlie's breeder to obtain the instructions of how to claim Charlie for our own. I placed a deposit to hold him as we would be through her area in the weeks to come on our way to visit my family for Christmas. I told her of our plan to call him Charlie. She obliged and said that she would start training him to that name. Knowing how headstrong Ashley is, I requested that the breeder tell her she had found him a home in the event Ashley contacted her about him, which, of course, she did. Ashley's behavior reflected the hearing of this news. She was sullen. Our playful banter about a puppy had all but ceased, and it confirmed to me she really had her heart set on him.

A few of Ashley's medical bills, Christmas gifts, and a few unplanned expenses that accompanied the undertaking of our new home left me a bit short of having the remainder of Charlie's cost, especially after I coordinated with the breeder the purchase of a crate, food, a round of shots, and a collar all in attempts to not carry any giveaways with me on the way to see my family for the holidays. I was distraught. This gift seemed fleeting, I needed help, and the person I usually seek help from would ruin the surprise. After sharing my plot, I asked Ashley's mother for financial assistance for the remaining balance. She obliged. Charlie was as good as ours.

The breeder lives about halfway through a 150 mile journey to my families neck of the woods. We had coordinated a place and time to meet. Ashley is everything to me, but she is a morning person for no one. However, I felt it necessary to bend her to my will that morning. I was brash and adamant about leaving at a time I had never witnessed her awake for. She was not my biggest fan that morning, but the cold shoulders and silent treatment were all worth seeing the tears in her eyes when she saw Charlie come bounding out of the rear of the breeder's vehicle.
She instantly scooped him up in an embrace remnant of family members that had been reunited. She had dreamed about him for weeks. Now her dream was riding in her lap to meet the rest of my family.
Charlie quickly gained a foothold in all of our hearts with his abundance of personality, his energy, and his loving nature. Charlie was always ready to play. He bore the curiosity of the world you would expect in a cat or a toddler, but puppies, like children, require constant correction and unconditional love. He certainly had plenty of both. She took the absolute best care of him.
Completing all of his vaccinations with the vet, he frequently took visits to the pet store, and those visits often resulted in new toys. He has a basket full of toys, but he loved nothing more than a dirty sock. I was firmly against him sleeping in our bed. I felt it was important to establish that boundary, but more often than not I would reach for Ashley in the middle of the night, and get a fistful of fur. I would wake up in the night with him laying on my legs, a bold act that has quickly found previous pets escorted to the floor. He was different. He meant a lot more. He was the child we couldn't have. He was the best of both of us.

It was the opening night of a play at the college, and Ashley's mother had come into town to attend the show with Ashley and another friend. I was closing up at work when Ashley called. She said after returning home from the show, she took Charlie out only to find he was acting very uncharacteristically. He was having difficulty standing and walking. She was headed to the emergency vet, and I met her there shortly after.

They had taken him back by the time I had arrived. The tears in Ashley and her mother's eyes were a reflection of the fear they both possessed; it was so palpable, I felt it as well. The doctors ran several series of tests ruling out several possibilities, but opted to keep him overnight for observation and further testing, then they would transfer him to his veterinarian in the morning. On our way home they contacted us stating his red cell count was extremely low, and that they would be starting him on a regiment of blood transfusions aimed at replenishing the red cells. Cancer, having played all too significant a role in all of our lives, seemed quite far-fetched to imagine in our less-than-six-month-old puppy, but it was the first thought to cross our minds. 

None of us slept well. Our bed felt empty. I tried to quell the negativity in the air by reassuring the ladies that our boy was tough, and as a member of this family he was, by blood, a fighter. Ashley and her mother left to pick Charlie up to transfer him to his own vet, and I left for work. An hour into my shift, Ashley called. Her voice was distorted by what I can only imagine were the heaviest tears she had cried since losing her father. She explained to me that the vet was giving Charlie a terminal diagnosis. I became a tangled fusion of fury, panic, fear, and anxiety. I had so many questions, but Ashley was unable to speak, let alone, explain with any hope of comprehension what was happening to our baby. I explained to my bosses what was happening, and they graciously understood and requested I go take care of my family.

I rushed to the vet's office where I was ushered into a room occupied by Ashley and my soon-to-be-mother-in-law waiting in tears. I threw my arms around Ashley, giving and taking what consolation could be found between us. The vet returned to the room introducing himself, and I remember feeling like his introduction was some sick stall tactic. He plodded forward stating his theory on what was ailing Charlie. There was some auto-immune agent present that was causing his immune system to attack itself, thereby, depleting his red cells, thus diminishing the amount of cells able to exchange oxygen within his body. Charlie was suffocating. The vet had been applying an immunosuppression therapy in efforts to stall his immune system from attacking itself long enough for his body to regenerate the cells that he had lost. Nevertheless, the vet was not optimistic that this therapy, if successful, would be a lasting remedy. He said we could transfer him to Mizzou for continued transfusions, but gave that option an equally austere outlook.

He was suffocating. He was suffering. All I wanted to do was give him every fighting chance; I wanted to shoulder his burden. I wanted him to feel that we were empowering him to survive. We were projecting what strength we had onto him in hopes it would be enough to help him soldier on. I don't identify with the idea of giving up, and Ashley must've read this determination all over me. She put her hand on my chest, and said we weren't giving up on him -- we were saving him from suffering. I find her strength in this moment admirable and enviable, now, but in the moment I was worried my boy would feel I was turning my back on him and I felt ashamed. We opted for the vet to relieve him of his suffering, but requested we get to say goodbye.

The vet's assistant carried Charlie into the room; a weak and hollowed version of the puppy we knew now laid on the cold stainless table. We all embraced him, voicing our love and adoration for him. All I could do was apologize, and tell him how brave and strong he was. I held his head in my hands maintaining eye contact in effort to show him the respect he deserved for transforming my heart in the way that he had, and for renewing Ashley's spirit by proving to herself that, though unconventional, she was a fantastic mother. The vet returned with the three syringes that would be Charlie's end. He droned on explaining how it worked, but I never stopped telling Charlie that I loved him. I, honestly, don't even think I could tell you what the vet looks like. My eyes were fixed on Charlie's, and I didn't want him to leave this world alone. I placed my hand on his heart feeling his vibrant heart racing. I could hear Ashley whispering to him that he would be alright. The vet inserted the final syringe, and I felt the heartbeat in my hand slowly dissapate and vanish. Charlie was gone...

The following days were very sad. Ashley seemed to live with tears in her eyes for weeks. The depression she felt manifest itself as flooding memories that would completely consume her at random, and all I could do was hold her. Our home was quiet for the first time in months. It was terrible. Every unmatched or spare sock would be added to Charlie's toy basket. What do you do with everything else? The food and water dishes remained in their place. The treats remained in the cookie jar atop the counter gathering dust. There was this enormous void that bore all these remnants strewn about our house. 

We had a date night that was going swimmingly. We had returned home. I brought the mail in, revealing a card addressed to us from the vet's office. It was expressing condolences, but contained these footprints.
So much for date night...

I began to combat my grief with the idea that Charlie wouldn't want me to be sad or upset when I thought of him. He would want me to remember him well. He would want me to be happy when I thought of him, and I had the most astounding revelation. The grief I was feeling was not for Charlie... it was for myself, for my loss. I was sad because I wouldn't be able to play with him, or see him, or see that look of pride Ashley displayed when she looked at him. I felt my grief was the wrong way to honor him, and I felt relief flood. I shared my discovery with Ashley, and, almost immediately, she countered with the idea of taking in another fur-baby that would become the object of her affection. I remember the biggest smile spreading my face.

Over the coming weeks, I would discover that Charlie's breeders had a couple litters that delivered days apart. Ashley found a brother and sister pair that were absolutely beautiful. She sent me this photo, and I remember looking at it for a long time trying to decipher what I was looking at. She said these two were utterly inseperable. They cuddle together when they sleep rather than with the other pups, and before I could interject with what they looked like she read my mind. She says this is Dolly.
...And this is Charlie Brown II. We can just call him Deuce for short. This woman cuts me to my soul. 

We have made arrangements with the breeder, and she is working with us, given our loss of Charlie.  We just tied the knot a week ago, and between the cost of attempting to save Charlie's life, our wedding, and reception the funds are, needless to stay, more than a little tight.

Our lives have been a blur since Charlie's passing, and things are finally settling down. I want her to settle back into this place with the new babies. This is what I have chosen for my wedding gift to her, and, again, I just need a little help delivering it to her. We have been through so much leading up to this wedding, and I see it as a testament to the strength of our love for one another. It would mean everything to me, if after all of these things we have endured, that I could be her hero one more time, and give her the family she craves. The only family we can have.

I am asking for help covering the cost of these puppies, and the associated funds with getting them vaccinated, vet visits, and registration costs. I am hoping to have all the funds available to pick them up by May 15, 2019. I appreciate anything and everything that you are able to donate towards this cause. Life has been throwing us curveballs since I envisioned a life married to my best friend. We have been able to withstand the trials that we've been beset with by leaning on, trusting, and believing in one another. This time, I am calling on your generosity to help me knock this one out of the park.

Thank you so incredibly much.