{"id":29558,"date":"2018-07-01T11:35:39","date_gmt":"2018-07-01T10:35:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/?p=29558"},"modified":"2021-06-13T17:27:18","modified_gmt":"2021-06-13T16:27:18","slug":"an-obituary-for-charlie-snore-loudly-our-little-man","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/an-obituary-for-charlie-snore-loudly-our-little-man\/","title":{"rendered":"A Eulogy for Charlie, Snore Loudly our Little Man"},"content":{"rendered":"

On 28 June 2018, our beloved dog Charlie passed away. He was 11 years old, chasing 12, but his heart rapidly weakened in the past few months of his life, causing him breathing difficulties, which in the final days we could no longer ignore. It was clear he was suffering, and when an aged, experienced vet in Bourg-Saint-Maurice in the French Alps calmly told us he’d only days to live, with a sense of deep dread we asked for him to be put down. At 12:15pm, with bright sunlight shining from a blue sky on the steep wooded hillsides and cliffs around us, he died in our arms.<\/p>\n

\"Rest

Rest up well Charlie, snore loudly wherever you are.<\/p><\/div>\n

That was three days ago now, and the raw grief we’ve felt is slowly, gradually easing, bursting upwards like a newly tapped oil well from time to time, unannounced, intense. Our ears still listen for his snores and barks, we expect his smiling face at the door to the motorhome when we come back in, and eating without at least one of his beady eyes watching each mouthful is a sad experience. When I opened the curtains to our motorhome yesterday in a valley near Mont Blanc, the beauty of the place hit me: this was a place I’ve love to sit with Charlie and enjoy life, but I couldn’t, ever again, he’s gone from us. Ju’s dreamed of a voice telling us to look for him in the high Alpine passes and the snowy valleys. Oh god, we loved that dog with all of our hearts!<\/p>\n

\"Ju

Ju and I on a walk with Charlie in 2010<\/p><\/div>\n

Charlie first came into our lives over a decade ago. I’ve always wanted a dog, but couldn’t as both Ju and I worked full time. We were not long married when my parents both finally retired and a possibility arose for a kind of ‘dog sharing’ arrangement. We’d own the pooch, but Mum and Dad would look after him during weekdays. We started a short search, with Ju finding an advert for a dog on the company internal website. On a nervous evening visit, we stood in the lounge as the owner explained her son was allergic to her dog, so she had to let him go, before opening the kitchen and out poured joy! All eyes and smiles, a tiny Charlie flew out, unable to stop on the shining floor and crashed into Ju. Our fates were sealed in an instant, we fell in love and picked him up a day later, the start of a wonderful ten year journey.<\/p>\n

\"Charlie's

Charlie’s first day with us, 9 Feb 2008<\/p><\/div>\n

For the next three years we settled into a rhythm. Ju and I would drop Charlie off with Mum and Dad about 7:30am, head to work and then pick him up that evening about 5:30pm. Every morning the little fella would know when we were getting close to their house, and fill the car with excited barking. Somehow this developed sense of being close to his destination spilled over into his later travelling life too, and he seemed to know when we were a mile away from our stopping point almost before we did! Mum and Dad loved the little chap too, easy to love as he was, and would regale us with stories of the day’s happenings each evening.<\/p>\n

\"Charlie

Charlie with me, Mum, Dad, my sister Amanda, Dillon the pup and brother-in-law Andy in 2010<\/p><\/div>\n

Our working lives were full of the usual stress and speed, and playing with Charlie, walking him in the nearby fields and woods, just stroking him or having him sleep by our feet was a hugely comforting thing. Our memories from back then are of him standing by the pond, pawing floating fish food back to the edge for him to eat (and once falling in, requiring rescue by Ju), of ‘bark-ball’ where he’d leap high in the air trying to bite a football three times the size of his head (we still have the remains of it!), of being a very reluctant early morning walker (leading to the life-long designation of dog walks as ‘dog drags’) and of fetching sticks too wide for the front door (leading to some veeeerrryyy long stand-offs between dog and house door). Some evenings, around 7pm, the joy of life would burst forth in the wee man and he’d peg it around the house and garden at top speed, ears and tongue flapping wildly, an episode Mum called his ‘mad half hour’.<\/p>\n

\"Off

Off out for a walk. I’d hide in the long grass while Ju held him facing the other way, and he’d sniff me out, licking my ears when he found me.<\/p><\/div>\n

A few months later Charlie joined us in our campervan for a two week jaunt around Scotland. Harvey took us all up the rainy-sunny West Coast, over to Mull and Skye. Charlie slept in our beds, taking up far too much room for his diminutive size, giving us back ache as we tried to get comfortable on the remaining 2\/3 of a bed. We’ll never forget him hogging the halogen heater one cold evening, then going nuts barking at it the following day as we travelled, perhaps because it was switched off? Looking back, the mode of travel we settled into later on, as well as a thousand other aspects of our lives, were heavily influenced by Mogwai, one of Charlie’s many nicknames, including Huffle Puffle, Herr Poochalot, Muttski, The Beast (which Mum hated), Doggle Boggle, Shmoo, Little Man, Wee Beasty and the epic Hairy-o-Furry-o-Savage-o-Canine-o-Ex-Static-o-In-a-Bag-Beast-Alot (with obscure later references to his fur becoming charged in the dry deserts of Morocco, to his wolf-like nature appearing when he had a bone, and a failed attempt to sneak him onto a bus to Barcelona in a bag).<\/p>\n

\"Ju

Ju and I with the Mogwai in May 2008<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Having

Having sleepies on his new soft bed in Harvey the RV<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Checking

Checking the table for treats on the Isle of Mull<\/p><\/div>\n

After three years, now in 2011, we cut the cord from work, bought Dave (our original Hymer B544), started this blog and set sail for Europe. It must have been a wrench for my parents to see him go, they invested so much time and love in looking after him for us, sometimes even for a week at a time, but they hid it well. This blog tells the tale of what happened next: two simply amazing years of travel with our little man with us 24-7. He was always there, fused into our daily routines and plans, still a young man enjoying legging it around on a hundred beaches, sniffing new air in high mountains, barking at the lapping of waves and ‘rescuing’ a million stones from the seas of Europe. This latter habit, along with me throwing stones for him to chase, wore his front teeth down to stumps. This caused everyone worry, but in the end he showed no sign of pain, ate with abandon (he loved his food!) and we’re glad we let him carry on in his endless rescue quests.<\/p>\n

\"Switzerland,

Switzerland, 2012<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Ernest

Ernest stone rescue attempts in southern Italy<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Getting

Getting wet was sure to kick off a mad half hour! This was in the desert at Ksar Ghilane in Tunisia, where he brought 15Kg of sand into the van!<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Trying

Trying his luck with a Lidl Lobster in Sicily. Of course he got a bit later on.<\/p><\/div>\n

Like this article I’m writing now, the blog serves as Ju and I’s collective memory. It means so much to us to have folks write and say they’ve found something useful about it, but it has this second, hugely important purpose to us: it reminds us just how good a life we’ve all had, how we felt as we moved through the world, and what joy and fears we had. It also serves as a connection with like-minded folks out in the world, when we sometimes would otherwise feel isolated out on the road. Let me take a moment to thank each and every one of you who’ve passed on a message of condolence – it eases our pain – we thank you, we thank you.<\/p>\n

\"Ju

Ju took this photo from the tower in Sienna, Italy<\/p><\/div>\n

Those first Dave tours lasted two years before the money ran out and we were forced home. He’d been to the Sahara twice, in Morocco and Tunisia, to the edges of Greece and even across Bosnia and a corner of Ukraine. The memories are so extensive, I wouldn’t know where to start, but thankfully this blog will do the job for me to a great extent. One of a million incidents comes to mind: we were travelling back from Tunisia when we found the ferry had no pet-friendly cabins, none of the returning boats did. Our plan to sneak him into the cabin was scuppered, and he had to go into a cage on the deck. His whimpering was too much for us, and I curled up in there with him, ready for a cold and uncomfortable night. Ju managed to persuade the staff to turn a blind eye in the end, but I’d have happily stayed all night with Charlie to keep him free from fear of being alone out there in the dark.<\/p>\n

Oh, and how I can not mention his flirts with death: that guard dog in Morocco which narrowly missed him, the fishing line he ate which turned out be hook-less, the rat poison in Sicily, something he sniffed up in Slovenia which he had an allergic reaction to and the many skanky, rotting things he managed to grab before we could stop him. We called him a ‘cat like dog’ in his early years as he’d clean his own paws and scare us by balancing high on the back of the sofa, and later on we realised he really did have nine lives.<\/p>\n

\"Greece,

Greece, 2013<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Begging

Begging for BBQ fish in 2013. Oh my lord, he was a master at getting food out of me in particular, I was soooo soft with him!<\/p><\/div>\n

Back home in Nottingham, Mum and Dad again took on the role of pooch Grand Parents as we headed back into the world of work, taking us away from our beloved wee man. Later on Auntie Amanda took on the dog-sitting role for us, and I can’t find the words to say how grateful I am to her and my Mum and Dad for enabling us to keep Charlie, and for him to stay within our trusted and loving family. He never stayed in kennels, this means everything to me.<\/p>\n

We rented a house for a few months, which Charlie took to with ease, one of his many homes. After so long so close to us in the van, he’d no longer accept sleeping downstairs and would bound up alongside us at night, although Ju was careful to ensure he didn’t sleep in the bed; our would-be-twisted backs couldn’t take it! My state of mind at coming home was initially poor, until we got our teeth into our ‘freedom plan’. Ju’s my life-long love, best friend and soulmate, and along with her support and guidance, Charlie’s carefree presence helped keep my chin up.<\/p>\n

\"Choosing

Choosing a birthday treat at Pets at Home<\/p><\/div>\n

Another season, another home, as we bought the butchers the summer of 2014 and moved in, renovating it room by room. Charlie, now aged seven (49 in human years) found himself in a new town, not far from the old one, and leapt into the lives and hearts of new people around us. He was still a fairly fit fella, and I can recall him pegging it up hills we had to scramble up, and walking with us through the woods and fields of a new place, more new sniffs, more places to wee on! Age was starting to creep up on him a little though, and we took to carrying him up and down the steep stairs, especially when they were carpet-less, so he could snore alongside us at night or watch us as we worked on the renovation. Not that he couldn’t make it up there alone – one evening around bonfire night we came back home to find he’d disappeared from his bed in the lounge, tracking him down to the back of an upstairs wardrobe, his big eyes wide in fear.<\/p>\n

\"He

He enjoyed the fire, if not the hat, in our newly-renovated lounge in 2014<\/p><\/div>\n

This fear thing by the way… He was afraid of so many things, we learned how to tell people in the easier languages that we were carrying him as he was afraid. In French, we picked up “Il a peur de son ombre<\/i>” – he’s afraid of his own shadow! The little fella was terrified of bridges, walkways with gaps, heights (except Vesuvius, where he seemed happy to flirt with death on the edge of the crater), cats, any water deeper than his poochy-man-bits (referred to as his ‘bad boy’), the dark (LEDs freaked him out), crowds and loud noises (especially fireworks, which we had to make dens for him to hide in the back of).<\/p>\n

In the autumn of 2015 we realised a new dream as we freed ourselves from the need to work, and bought another motorhome, Zagan, which I’m currently sat in. We popped Charlie in him and set off out into the world once more. In these final years of his life he set paws on the white sands of the Arctic beaches, crunched his way through the tails of freshly-caught mackerel (he’d eat anything, except lettuce!), sniffed around for fallen dates in the palmeries<\/i> of Morocco, watched amused at the antics of bounding reindeer and lead his own dog pack at a house sit in Andalusia. At one point in Croatia we met up with a lovely couple with a Winnebago, who offered to cook us a chicken dinner. Charlie had never managed the two steps up into Zagan, but with the whiff of chuck in his nostrils he amazed us all by leaping up the five steps into the RV to his prize of chicken bits!<\/p>\n

\"Capbreton,

Capbreton, south-west France in 2015<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Half

Half dog, half dog food bag, 2016 food snaffling<\/p><\/div>\n

\"At

At the Carlsberg Brewery with the best dog in the world, probably<\/p><\/div>\n

By the time 2017 rolled around the Little Man was knocking on ten years old, 70 in human years, and age was catching up with him. He was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a toy breed bred for beauty and companionship, a wonderful breed but beset with in-bred health problems. First arthritis slowed him down, bending his tail which no longer wagged, and making him even more reluctant to walk. Later on syringomyelia (a relatively mild case, thankfully) messed with the signals from brain to paws, leading to a heart-breaking ‘knuckling’ and stumbling when he walked, which we had to harden ourselves to otherwise we’d be in continual tears. Finally his heart developed Mitral Valve Disease, and over the course of perhaps four months grew larger and weaker. Medication could only ease the symptoms of all of these, and we opted to avoid surgery at this late stage in his life, which might kill him or at least cause him significant pain. His body started to retain more and more liquid, leading to one final nickname: ‘The Pot-Bellied Shmoo’.<\/p>\n

\"Staithes,

Staithes, Feb 2018<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Unimpressed

Unimpressed with his last snowfall in March 2018, Kimberley, Notts<\/p><\/div>\n

After a nine month break from travel, we set out again in April 2018 on a three month ‘Charlie Time’ trip. We knew inside his time was short, although we never expected to bury the fella out here ‘at sea’. Our last weeks with him were gentle ones. We’d keep travel time short, as the diuretics made him need to wee frequently. We stayed in calmer spots, where we could just sit with him and stroke the little chap. We tried (and failed) to keep him cool as he panted away lay under the van with a wet towel on him, or being wafted with a fan like the prince he was to us. A sense of growing dread rose up in us, and life became focused on nursing our Mogwai, carrying him outside for the loo or sniffs, and bringing him food and water which he’d lap at, take a breather, and lap at again until he’d tell us he was satiated with a cool lick to the hand.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Folks who’d also lost pets told us we’d know when the time was right to make that final trip to the vets, but we never did. We looked for a sign which didn’t come and agonised every day on what we should do, terrified of what lay before us. The time finally came after we’d been in the mountains for a week. We’d no idea his heart was so weak, it couldn’t cope with being in the thin air up above 1500m, and after a few days his coughing and laboured breathing became worse. When we finally twigged, we dropped down below 1000m and visited a vets as soon as we could. They scanned him and confirmed his body was a mass of liquid, and gave him an injection and more diuretics.<\/p>\n

\"He

He was all used up come June 2018, tired from a full, free and loved life.<\/p><\/div>\n

The relief was short-lived as he continued to suffer breathing difficulties at night, gasping for air until he was eventually exhausted. In those final days we’d each of us silently pleaded for the moment he’d fall asleep each night, no longer in discomfort for the day, and although we’re deeply ashamed to say it, had prayed he’d die in his sleep. On Wednesday night he gasped for three hours, and I lost my mind in pain and grief, anger and fear. The following morning Charlie was refusing to eat, perhaps that final, final sign as he always ate, always, he was a wee pig of a dog! Ju went to reception to extend our stay, and the young lady there explained of the two vets in the town, she, a fellow dog owner, thought that the other one was better, if ‘a little strange’, but he spoke no English. She booked us in, and offered to come and translate. Thankfully the appointment was in 30 minutes, so we’d no time to dwell on it.<\/p>\n

The vet we met had clearly seen it all. Having been to umpteen vets across Europe, we’ve gotten used to the language gap, but this appointment was different and the time taken for the translation to go back and forth was a torture in itself. After a thorough exam, the vet suggested another type of diuretic, before letting us know that any more altitude would kill him, and even staying low he had only days to live. The mountains, he said, had knocked a few days from his life, but his heart was the problem. The only cure was a new heart, an impossible thing, and in dreadful tears we made the decision to put him down and end his suffering.<\/p>\n

As the vet prepared, we hugged and stroked our little boy, giving him gravy bones which he managed to chew, and saying goodbye over and over again. Small patches on his front two legs were shaved, and we both pocketed the precious bits of fur that came off him. Two injections were carefully administered as he lay there quietly, the first in his back sedated him, the second in his front leg killed him in a second. I had my hands on his back, Ju had hers on his heart, and felt it stop. His death was quiet, fast, and with dignity. As he lay there we stood in shock and I asked the vet “Il est mort?<\/i>“, “Oui, il est mort<\/i>“, yes, he is dead. Ju lifted his lifeless body onto the soft bag which would carry him to be cremated, we held his paw and kissed his head one last time, paid and cried our way out the door.<\/p>\n

And that was the last time we saw him. Over ten years he’s been with us, integrated into our lives, binding us together, giving us joy and (on more than one occasion) a bit of frustration! He was, to a great extent, a guide in our lives, keeping us grounded, reminding us what’s important and what is not. For anyone reading this far who has a dog, cherish them, their time is shorter than ours. We regret nothing about our life with Charlie. We grieve deeply for him, and talk of the many memories we have of him. His suffering is over, he’ll never leave the Alps, but our suffering has just started, and we have to move on.<\/p>\n

\"How

How we remember him, a happy bunny of a fella. Big eyes, button nose and a floppy ham tongue!<\/p><\/div>\n

Rest well, our beautiful little man. Snore loudly, save those stones, beg for chicken and snaffle whatever cack you like now our friend. Nothing can harm you.<\/p>\n

Jay, Beaufort, French Alps, 1 July 2018<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On 28 June 2018, our beloved dog Charlie passed away. He was 11 years old, chasing 12, but his heart rapidly weakened in the past few months of his life, causing him breathing difficulties, which in the final days we could no longer ignore. It was clear he was suffering, and when an aged, experienced […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":29595,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[417,53],"tags":[17,519,1524],"class_list":["post-29558","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-motorhome-blog","category-france-motorhome","tag-charlie","tag-dog","tag-eulogy"],"yoast_head":"\nA Eulogy for Charlie, Snore Loudly our Little Man - Our Tour Motorhome Blog<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"On 28 June 2018, our beloved dog Charlie passed away. 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