During the Pandemic, one of my amusements during the isolation of lockdown was scrolling through pictures of French Bulldogs. The big eyes and ears screaming cuteness. The hanging jowls and compact body stating they are to be taken seriously. Even though I liked to fantasize about having a Frenchie around, it wasn’t a real possibility at the time.

A few years later, when I moved in with my girlfriend, I learned that the next-door neighbors had one. When I got home from work, if Carl was out, I’d hear him barking from behind the fence. He had a big bark. “Hey, Carl! It’s me.” I’d bark back at him. He’d bark some more. What a knucklehead. We’d bark at each other a few times more until got to my front door.

Recently, we had Carl stay with us for a couple of weeks while our neighbors were out of town. He was a great house guest. Fun to have around, but not too demanding. He spent most of his time lying out on the driveway or in the grass, soaking up the hot sun. The old guy seemed to be enjoying a restful vacation from his human family and the 4-year old boy who loves playing with him. He’d sniff around the garden. Eat a light dinner. Then curl up in his bed, making snoring sounds much louder than seemed reasonable for a body his size.

Carl went back to his home a couple of days ago. His family noticed he wasn’t his usual self. He’d been sick on and off for some time, so they took him to the vet. X-rays showed tumors all over his lungs. The vet said there wasn’t much that could be done, other than to make him a little more comfortable. They realized that it was time for him to go and for them to say good-bye. A little later in the afternoon, after saying their farewells, they reluctantly sent him off on his journey. Miss you already, you little knucklehead.

Blessings and Godspeed Carl!