Diary of a Dog: Charlie

Photos by Irene Searles

Not many dogs start their lives known as the Bengal Tiger Dog of Sewanee, Tennessee. I got that nickname because of the stripes on my face.

My three brothers and I were dumped on the side of the road in Sewanee when we were eight weeks old. I was the one always on the lookout for help—even when my tummy rumbled and my skin itched from the fleas.

Help came in the form of a nice couple that just happened to be relatives of Nancy and George, the family I now live with on the Peninsula. They took all four of us in, and Nancy flew all the way from California to meet us. She had first pick, and, of course, smartly picked me. My brothers ended up with families in Philadelphia, Boston and New York.

While I always knew I was a Great Pyrenees, Nancy and George somehow mistook me for a mutt. Because they wanted to know what I was, they sent off a sampling of my slobber that proved I was indeed a Great Pyrenees.

I’m nine years old now and I like to bark at the wind and howl when I hear sirens. I pride myself on being adaptable and sometimes stay in SF with another family member, Chris, who takes me to work with him.

At 100 pounds, I’m a good-sized dog but I’m gentle with other animals. I live with two cats, one of whom, Bronco, likes to go walking with me around my neighborhood. She jumps over me and dashes under me. I’m patient with all of her antics, although, to be truthful, I think she’s a tad ridiculous.