when I got Charlie, my first dog, I was 4 years old.

I’m now 20 and Charlie 16, and unfortunately today we had to put him down.

He was a good boy, he lived a long happy life, and as he passed on he sighed almost in relief. It was his time, but I’ll miss him.

When we first got Charlie at 2 months old, he’d been kept in a kennel so small the other dogs walked on him and as a result he could not walk when he first came home, and his legs were stunted in growth for the rest of his life. But he didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

I’d named him after Charlie B. Barkin from “All Dogs Go to Heaven” and I’m sure now he’s found his place there.

Rest in peace, buddy.