Author’s Note: This is part II of an emotional 3-part story. I’m sure it will not be as emotional for the reader as it was for me to write, but it is emotional, nevertheless.

Prologue III:

By historical account, we know that Roland was a great Frankish knight. The Song of Roland, anonymously written about 300 years after Roland’s death at Roncevaux Pass in 778, makes him the legendary and beloved nephew of Charlemagne, King of the Franks and Emperor of Rome.

Before my Roland died, as I came to grips with the fact that he would not be with us forever, I knew there would be at least one more boxer in my life. Even before we found him, I knew my next boxer would be Charlemagne and we would call him Charly.

Fain would he know if Charles is bringing aid;

His Olifant he grasps, and blows full faint.

The Emperor halts, hearing the feeble strain:

“My lords,” quoth he, “this tells a woeful tale;

Roland my nephew is lost to us this day,

That call proclaims his breath is nigh to fail.

Whoso would reach him must ride with desperate haste.

Charly at the lake half-way up the Pikes Peak Highway. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Part II: Charlemagne Answers the Call

Shortly after Roland’s death, I deployed to Iraq for a year. Even before I returned home, Delphine mentioned to me that we needed another boxer. Young Sky missed her buddy. I told her I didn’t want to buy another boxer, but there were plenty needing rescue. I hadn’t been home long when she found a young boxer abandoned at the Colorado Springs Humane Society. Charly – not the name his previous owners gave him of course – had been left at the night drop. He even had a microchip, which unfortunately meant he was imprisoned at the shelter for far too long. We were ready to take him home right away, but because he was a drop off, the shelter needed to hold on to him for a week and attempt to contact the owner, who never responded. By the time Charly was released to us, he was extremely ill with kennel cough, but a happy little guy nonetheless.

Charly with Sky. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Charly – short for Charlemagne – obviously would never be as big as Roland, but what he lacked in girth and strength, he more than made up for in quickness and courage. At only 60 pounds full grown, he was a full 26 pounds lighter than his predecessor but that made him light and nimble. He bonded with Sky right away and she took to teaching him bad habits right from the start. Sky was very smart, an escape artist and Charly was her loyal minion. If she fancied a hunting trip into the open space, she would find a way out, usually encouraging Charly to do all the work of digging under the fence or just ramming a loose board with his head until it finally gave way. Once free, Charly followed Sky into the fray time and again.

The Paynim said: "I marvel in my mind At Charlemayn whose head is old and white.

Two hundred years, I know, have passed him by.

In lands so many he’s conquered far and wide,

Lance-thrusts so many he’s taken in the strife,

Rich kings so many brought to a beggar’s plight—

When will he weary of going forth to fight

Charly playing in the snow on Pikes Peak. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Charly’s biggest disadvantage was that he never looked the part. He could never fit in where Sky would venture. As strange as it seems, Sky was a welcomed entity among the burgeoning community of coyotes. She would frequently walk right into a group of them and they welcomed her without argument. On at least four occasions, Charly tried to follow Sky into the wild group of canines and for his curiosity he was scarred with two sets of matching teeth marks on both hindquarters. He just never learned his lesson. Even as such a small package, Charly always felt the need to dominate. He was always very protective of his girl Sky, though she was 20 pounds heavier than him and could totally kick his short stubby tail.

Charlemagne. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Charly’s first response to anything even remotely threatening was always “CHARGE!” that policy often got him in trouble, but never did it come closer to ruination than one morning in our Old Farm Community of Colorado Springs. With Sky and Charly obediently walking by my side up the wide concrete walk to the 40-acre open space, something rustled in a thick Gamble oak growing along a neighbor’s privacy fence. Both dogs tore off in the direction of the noise, but Sky knowingly returned to my side promptly, which was unlike her. Charly continued to bark and growl at something forcing its way through the tangle of limbs and then the very large head of a young bear emerged. The 300-pound bear darted past as a 60-pound ferocious beast with a bad underbite nipped at his tail. It only took a second or two for the bear to grow tired of this, but thankfully he was very gracious with his countermeasures. The larger animal turned 180 degrees, took a seat then lowered his head nose to nose with Charly and stared him in the eye. Charly instantly stopped his racket and ran up the hill to my side once more. Bear and dog had reached an agreement.

Charly contemplating life on Mount Sherman, Colorado. photo by M.S. Humphreys

After my second deployment to Iraq, 15 months long, my welcome back consisted of divorce papers. Like I said, Delphine had been a big mistake, but again, that’s another story. After getting her citizenship, a college degree, a job, $1500 worth of dental work – apparently French dentists just suck – and a new Jeep Liberty, she didn’t need to be married anymore. Fortunately for me, she agreed to live in the house I was paying for and take care of the dogs while I went east to Virginia for three months of training before being reassigned to a joint position at Peterson Air Force Base, also in Colorado Springs. Also fortunate for me, and my dogs, I met my next wife on the East Coast one weekend while I was there.

The old hag moved out, thankfully not wanting anything to do with the dogs, and my new fiancé moved into our Colorado home. Sky and Charly took to Jessica right away. To get away from town and the memories, we found a place in the country just northeast of Colorado Springs. I quickly learned that giving the dogs the run of the fenced, five acres was not a good idea out there. Shortly after moving into the new place, we were still sleeping on a mattress on the floor because my ex had sold my old bed, not that I wanted it anyway. About 1 a.m. one morning, Sky bolted through the doggy door and up the stairs to our room anxiously making a tearing sound like she had brought a large rodent into the room. By the time I got up and turned on the light, she was back down the stairs and outside but there were noticeable blood stains on the carpet. I hurried down the stairs and to the back patio where the doggy door exited the home. I opened the sliding door, turned on the light and started calling to Sky and Charly. As Charly turned the corner of the garage and walked into my view, I struggled through sleepy eyes to figure out exactly what I was looking at. My first thought was that Charly had a turkey in his mouth. He slowly lumbered closer to me and the revelation was shocking.

Jessica was just walking into the kitchen and heard me say, “Oh, s--t!”

“What’s wrong,” she asked with concern.

“I’m not sure,” I responded, “but Charly is f--ked up!”

It looks terrifying and I'm sure it was for the little guy, but he made a complete recovery. Still we were finding quills working their way to the surface for many weeks later. photo by M.S. Humphreys

I don’t think we ever got an actual count from the emergency veterinarian, but my best guess is that Charly had somewhere between 300 and 500 porcupine quills stuck in his face, neck and mouth. While Sky was not nearly as bad, she was reacting to them much worse than Charly. The noise we heard when she first woke us was her trying to forcibly rip them from her nose. We are certain that Sky tried to intervene to save Charly from his bad judgement and that she ran into our room that morning to let us know something awful had happened. Both dogs made a full recovery, but Charly was pretty lethargic and easily spooked for several weeks. Months later, we were still getting our fingers pricked when we pet Charly as remnants of quills would work out through the skin.

After a few months of being in our new home, Jessica was able to go back to North Carolina to get the rest of her things, her three cats and her young, 120-pound English Lab Sawyer abandoned by her ex-husband. Charly and Sawyer became best buds right away. Sky was more independent and less interested, but she got along great with Sawyer too. As for Jessica’s cats, Mackenzie and Pistachio ignored the dogs, while her tomcat Memphis seemed to prefer the dogs to the other two cats.

The Three Amigos Sawyer, Charly and Sky at Rampart Reservoir, Colorado. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Generally, Charly was a healthy guy, but as boxers often are, he was a klutz, prone to accidents and infections and often cost us out of budget expenses about once per quarter like the porcupine incident that was more than $1500 for both dogs. We thought we lost Charly once as a result of an abscessed tooth that developed into pneumonia, but once again, he pulled through. It was always something with Charly.

Charly preferred chairs and benches to the cold hard floor. photo by M.S. Humphreys

In 2011, Jessica opened her own retail store and workshop to showcase and sell her own crafts. For four years Charly went to the shop with Jessica to serve as door greeter at Frog on a Limb Primitives in the sleepy town of Monument, Colorado, about 30 minutes from our home. He even had a frog costume for special events that he never minded wearing. Everybody came to know Charly at the shop and frequently visitors would stop in to just see him and nothing else, especially the children. One little girl would bolt through our shop door about once per week with her mother in tow, call “Charleee,” in her child voice then run to him and love his neck. It was always a precious moment.

Charly loved to hang out with his friend Bud Ford when he would come to our Monument shop to play the Appalachian Mountain Dulcimer. photo by M.S. Humphreys
"Nobody wants to play with a Charly in a box." Charly should have been an actor. He was always up for a promo like this Christmas one for the shop. He was well known in Monument, Colorado. photo by M.S. Humphreys

In early August 2015, Sky, whom we estimated was in her 12th year, suffered a deadly stroke while undergoing treatment for severe arthritis. This was a painful loss for Jessica and me, but we hadn’t considered how hard it would be on Charly. Sky had been his housemate for nearly nine years, almost his whole life. Six weeks later, on a Monday morning, I woke to take Charly and Sawyer for a walk as I was accustomed to doing twice a day. On this day, we took the wooded trail that passes one or two large fenced in lots with dogs. There was nothing unusual about Charly and Sawyer running up and down the fence rows side by side dogs on the other side of the fence. It was a regular occurrence and Charly seemed up to the task. By the time we neared the house though, he started acting unusually tired and weak.

Both dogs were wet and muddy so I wouldn’t let them back in the house right away. Sawyer laid down on his bed in the garage while Charly sort of collapsed in his. I spent a few minutes talking to Jessica as she was getting out of bed and told her Charly acted as if he wasn’t feeling well. When I went back out to check on him, he was gone. For the next 15 minutes, we searched in separate directions around the house and five acres looking for him. I went back into the house to see if he had snuck through an opened door when I heard Jessica scream from the yard. I ran down the drive following the sound of Jessica’s screams and found her bent over Charly’s still body.

Boxers are pugilists, but in this photo, Charly looks a little like ET. photo by M.S. Humphreys

Six weeks after his housemate of nine years passed and just after one last walk with his human and best dog buddy, Charly took himself for a short walk down the drive, laid down under a pinon pine and gave up the ghost. He was nearly 10 years old.

Back in Monument on the next day, a whole community grieved Charly’s passing. Though he was our little buddy, our own loss was not so heart wrenching as the moment we heard his name from the excited voice of a girl-child on the threshold of our door and he was not there to answer her call. That kind of love is reserved for kings.

"(He) feels death press upon him hard;

It’s creeping down from his head to his heart.

Under a pine-tree he hastens him apart,

There stretches him face down on the green grass,”

All excerpts are from the David Rehak translation of The Song of Roland.