The last time I saw Charlie, he was a gray old boy. His muzzle having faded from the distinctive black of youth to the salt and pepper of age. He laid quietly now, absorbing the sunshine. The squirrils even came closer these days, tempting fate against the settled wisdom of age. His eyes had become gray over time. Surrendering the brilliant brown of youth to the softer, forgiving color that comes with time. There were a few bald patches now. That soft brown fur wearing thin left him looking rough.
Once upon a time, Charlie ran. Breaking out the emergency window in my room to run the mile and a half to Grandma's house was commonplace. Once upon a time he was the protector. Now, as life comes full circle, his bark sits quiet, having waited for a danger that never came. His walk is laboured with the stiffness of time, and he moves as slowly as a summer evening, steady in its warmth.
Just as the seasons have shifted over time, the puppy who once was became the old man before me. We snuggle in the chill of the winter as though two parts of the same whole. It is now, as I hold him that I know without a doubt, some day we will meet again.