Charles, Gary, and a Taste of Salt

Charles was desperate for a bite of popcorn shrimp. Salty, succulent, shrimp. 

He tried staring with the intensity of a thousand dogs. His owner looked away. He tried whining. His owner pretended not to hear. Finally, driven to desperation after seeing another precious shrimp disappear between his owner’s bearded lips, Charles committed the ultimate sin. He barked. And, for the first time in days (Charles was a good dog), Charles heard the hated word: “no.” 

“Lie down,” commanded Gary, in his sharpest, most authoritative voice. Gary believed pets, as a rule, shouldn’t have “people food,” and they certainly shouldn’t pester you while you’re eating. He watched as Charles slunk across the room, back to his bed in the corner. 

Gary almost didn’t notice the regular tapping of Charles’ nails on the hardwood, a sound he’d heard a thousand times. But the tapping paused, replaced by a skittering scrabble. Charles’s hips gave out and his rear end thumped on the floor. 

“Oh, Charles!” Gary gasped. 

Charles looked back at his master, his friend, embarrassed. He stood and finished the short journey. 

Gary was shaken. Charles was his only friend and such a good dog. He so rarely broke a rule. And, Gary had to face the truth: he also broke a rule. He always took meals in the kitchen, not the den. And he broke his own rule because he was too tired. His legs were too dang sore today to sit in the kitchen chairs. 

He wasn’t as resilient as he used to be. Neither, he realized, was Charles. If Gary could bend the rules for himself, why not for Charles. 

“Come here, boy,” Gary said, pulling a piece of popcorn shrimp from the red-striped cup. Charles looked up, his eyes jumping from the shrimp to his master and back. He rose, but remained standing in his bed. 

“It’s all right, Charles,” Gary crooned, “you’re a good boy, and we both deserve a break. Come and get a little shrimp, friend. Matter of fact, I think you deserve two.” Gary held a breaded shrimp between his fingers and extended his hand toward Charles. His eyes began to moisten. 

Charles saw the tears forming, and smelled the growing sadness (although it was harder to detect than usual, due to the popcorn shrimp). 

It was the grief that drew him to his master. He padded, slowly, to Gary’s knee, pausing with his face a respectful distance from the shrimp. But, when he sat, he was surprised to find his owner gazing deeply into his eyes, and offering the treat — there could be no mistake — bringing it to his very lips. 

Tenderly, Charles took the shrimp, and, if a dog can savor, that’s exactly what he did.