Charlie: My Leg-Lifting Birthday Twin

Written by Heather Anderson

I was working through The Mamahood pending posts when one stopped me cold.

“Yorkie pup needs rehoming—born 4/5.”
No picture, nothing else.

April 5th. My birthday.

Naturally, I DMd to find out more.

Can’t leave a birthday twin hanging, right?

I said there was absolutely no way that I could adopt a dog - we were up to our eyeballs in chaos with three ND kiddos, 7 chickens, 1 bearded dragon, 2 cats and one dog. If anything, I truly needed to rehome a whole barnload ASAP.

I said I’d be happy to help find the right family and maybe facilitate the handoff if she needed that? I was thinking maybe she’d want me to come see him, chat, gather detes, and put feelers out? Like a puppy rescue broker.

But it escalated quickly.
She: Can you meet at Target in one hour?

Me: Ummmmm, yeahhhhhh? Ok. Can I see what he looks like?

She sends a cute pic (see below) of a sad, nicely groomed, little Yorkie in a box looking up at the camera person longingly, desperately.

The text msg pic that started it all.

Danny likes to joke that I got catfished.

The Parking Lot Pickup

We met in a Target parking lot. A young couple stood across from me and my daughter with frantic energy. The wife was holding a human baby - probably 18 months old, and the husband had a squirming mop of fur in a red and black plaid carrier. He didn’t look like a dog—just a Muppet with no face, a mess of overgrown hair. They told me they got him before the baby was born, but couldn’t care for him anymore. No collar, no leash, no food. When I reached toward him, expecting skepticism and stranger danger vibes - he leapt straight into my arms, trembling and reeking of feces.

Meeting for the first time. His bones were poking through his skin. His spine felt like a serrated knife.

And we couldn’t see his eyes. But he wanted to wriggle and snuggle.

The Bath

We rushed to a DIY pet wash. It took two hours of scrubbing and detangling. We bought shampoo, conditioner, brushes, and a new carrier. He weighed just 6 pounds and flinched with every knot. We trimmed just enough so he could see. His eyes told us everything.

The Car Ride

Wrapped in a towel, we put him in the backseat. Still matted, but finally clean. I called my husband: “We might be coming home with a wet dog.” He was… not thrilled. But Charlie looked anxiously - and quite enthusiastically - out the window, then curled up on the damp towel and slept like he finally exhaled.

On the way home.

The First Weeks

We introduced Charlie to our dog Rosie outside, and they clicked immediately. But house training? A nightmare. He pooped and peed everywhere. We tried blogs, trainers, reusable and disposable diapers—none worked. He got a scabby rugburn rash on his belly from the diaper snaps and still had accidents. I couldn’t leave him out of my sight, so I took him with me all day every day, like a little mini-van buddy on my lap, driving around, doing my errands, driving the kids around. When I’d laptop in parking lots, he’d doze on his back on my jacket in the front passenger seat. I’d look over at this relaxed ball of curls on my best jacket and think, I’m soooo screwed. No way I’m going to be able to give him to anyone.

The Makeover

We gave him a name—Charlie—and a new collar. Bought him a puffer vest. Even bought him his first bougie puppacino from Starbs.

Eventually, I took him for a professional groom.

When I went to pick him up, I didn’t recognize him - at all. I literally blurted out in surprise, “Where’s my dog?!” They handed him to me with a bandana, and suddenly he looked… hopeful.

Where We Are Now

The original plan was to foster him temporarily - for a single week. Clean him up, help rehome him. But the woman who gave him to us ghosted. She’d originally said she could text me a screenshot of his vaccination records so he’d be super adoptable. No response ever again. No records. I’ve since lost track of her name.

Our vet had to start over with vaccines. And so we just… kept going. We gave him the shots, the food, the grooming. We didn’t mean to fall in love with him. But we did.

Charlie is still a work in progress. He’s still not fully potty trained. We need to stack our furniture in a pile and just light a bonfire and start over. Every chair, couch, rug, appliance, tile, bed, has been dosed with urine - relentlessly! Even though we’re doing “all the things”.

But he’s doubled in weight and loves going on daily walks. He’s strong and thick now, no bones poking. You can’t feel his spine - just strong wiry muscles. He’s obsessed with my daughter, and she loves that. If he’s sitting with her and you approach, he might go Cujo on you.

We are too embarrassed to have friends over any more it’s so gross. We need to buy a new house, move out of state, maybe to a farm where he can live in the barn. We’ve considered divorce because I brought this tiny maverick home. But he’s ours. We’re his. And oddly the whole thing seems out of our hands.

Anybody want a very loved Yorkie (who’s likely not really a Yorkie)?

Just kidding - as we don’t seem able to part with him!