My sister is complaining that even with the new format, my diary still isn’t being updated. The truth is that I just couldn’t bring myself to add anything that would supplant Charlie’s final story. We see him everywhere and remember him constantly. But it’s been two weeks and the time seems right. His ashes still sit in the house waiting for us to be ready. Soon we’ll scatter part of them along “the loop”, our most frequent walking path, and bury the rest under the orange tree where he last laid. It’s near the hot tub and it seems right that he’ll be close when we relax there, in death as he was in life. We took Noche to the beach yesterday, only his second time, and our first beach trip without Charlie. That was hard. Noche loved the people and the other dogs but a water dog he his not. Today we went hiking in dog-friendly Garland Ranch Regional Park in Carmel. Noche did great, even off leash. Dry land is definitely more his thing.

While the news reports of blizzards in the mid west and east coast, an early spring fever has struck here. The almond tree is blossoming, the hens are laying eggs again. Even the newts are mating. You know what they say about spring—when a young newt’s fancy turns to …

(Actually, newts mate all winter long but I thought I could take a little poetic license here.)

Although Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday does draw near, the title of this post is not related. Rather it refers to Charlie who, I like to believe, is once again free to run to his heart’s content. We had a hard night. It served to make our path more clear and this morning we drove Charlie to town and asked the emergency room vet to help him rest easy. Oddly, after calling the animal hospital, while talking to Steve about what they told me, Charlie lifted his head and looked at us, more alert than his recent usual. I said “Charlie, I know you hear us talking about this and now would be a good time to give us a sign what you want us to do.” Then he barked. Forcefully and repeatedly. It seemed a sign but of what? I tried giving him water. He declined, groaned and laid his head back down. Minutes later he barked his weaker bark, the one he’s been using to tell us he needs tending. I helped him up and opened the door to see if he wanted out. He did. He went down to the garden, peed and then laid down in the rain. He was very clear that this was where he wanted to be and he didn’t want to get up again. We didn’t make him. Instead we prepared to go. Steve carried him to the truck and into the hospital. When the vet administered the shot, there was hardly a change. His life force was so weak already, its leaving was almost imperceptible.

We drove home quietly. In tears.

It’s not quite noon but I think I just might get drunk.