I was so ready to write a glowing post about you. I was going to talk about how I notice that you thump your tail on the floor when you hear the kids talking, even though it looks like you’re sleeping. I was going to let everybody know how much I appreciated having you with me when Dad was gone on business for several days last week. How I felt safe knowing that you were with us, and how you kept the bed warm at night. And how you were the first one at Hannah’s door this morning when you heard her crying.

I might have also talked about how we thought we had solved the problem we’ve had with you unlocking the back sliding doors, going out, and coming back in with muddy paws when we’re gone. You know, that curtain rod we carefully placed to keep you from sliding the door.

But then you had to ruin it. You had to go and tear the curtains covering those sliding glass doors. One curtain panel is exactly three feet shorter than when you had your anxiety attack! You tore it off so cleanly it looks like someone cut if off with a scissors.

Too bad, Charlie. Too bad. You were about to become a blogstar.