Letting Go – RIP, Charlie

My Mother posted this gem on Facebook the other day:


It struck a chord with me in so many ways. It could sum up the last two years of my life, and it could sum up a very difficult decision I’ve recently made.

The decision means my house will be a bit quieter tomorrow. It will be a little less rambunctious. I won’t be getting barked at. Literally.

Not because my boys are heading to their Father’s house for the weekend, which is usually the reason – but because we’ve been faced with letting go of a beloved family member, our beagle Charlie. He’s getting old, and he’s in pain and he could probably go on living and trying – but it would be difficult for him.

Choosing to put a dog down is never an easy decision. Well, actually, sometimes it is much easier than others – like when Charlie’s little Beagle brother, Buster, died. He had cancer, and despite months of therapies and thousands of dollars spent trying to “save” him from his incurable disease, in the end it was very clear he had to go. Like, right that minute. I drove to an emergency vet at 1:00 in the morning, crying my eyes out while on the phone with my then-husband, who was on a business trip in Israel. He kept me coherent enough through the tears to drive, and he helped talk me through the first-time feeling of delivering a beloved pet to his death. I didn’t expect it to overwhelm me the way that it did. I held Buster as he died and I couldn’t help but tell him how sorry I was over and over.

But Charlie’s death is much bigger, much harder. And the decision to put him down – much more significant.

This isn’t just any dog. And the timing of his death is not insignificant.

You may be thinking, “Everyone says that,” when their furry friends are leaving us. But no, truly, this isn’t any dog, and this isn’t just any ordinary circumstance.

You see, Charlie represents more than just the end of his own life. It’s as though he is a much larger symbol of not only a life ending, but a life chapter that’s closing for me.

My husband proposed with Charlie. We named him “Charlie’s Diamond Surprise” on his AKC registration papers.

He was a part of our wedding.photo2

He walked all the way from the Boston Common through Downtown Crossing to the Seaport every single day for about 1.5 years to go to work at the startup my husband founded. I even pitched a story about them and got it placed in Network World, featuring them both.


He was our “first son” and I remember missing him on our Honeymoon.

We’ve been going through a very tough divorce for almost two years now.

We’re at the end, and the papers are are about to be signed.

And it’s a sad, sad, circumstance…. like making the heartbreaking decision to put Charlie out of his pain. Like being strong enough to recognize when it’s over. Like having a very difficult epiphany and making a choice – one that not everyone will agree with or understand – to realize things will be better if you only let go. You’ve tried long enough. It’s time to let go.

Charlie represents everything our marriage was. In the beginning it was hopeful, vibrant, a bit naïve, definitely rambunctious and energetic. Goofy. Appreciative. Then came things that took our attention away, less time together, the addition of little ones (in Charlie’s case, a baby beagle brother who sat on him all the time for some reason, and a Chihuahua sister who adored him), and new responsibilities. Moves and new jobs and changes that the years bring. We slowed down, we got tired…

So putting this dog down feels a little like my own death. It’s letting go of so much more than him.

I could go on forever with stories. But I’ll just share a few more photos at the end here.

I want to thank my friends who gave me advice on when to tell my boys. I gave them the chance to say goodbye tonight, and we had a good cry. Then we had some laughs making Charlie a “last meal,” which consisted of a LOT of kibble, some chicken and his favorite, carrots. My 7-year-old wrote him a note (OMG, so adorable) and my oldest son chose a few things to bury him with when we get his ashes back. We’re going to lay him to rest next to Buster ‘s ashes somewhere in our yard.

We’ll cry. We’ll mourn. And we’ll find reasons to laugh amongst the tears – and we’ll talk about what a crazy dog Buster was and a good, loyal, faithful companion Charlie was.

And life will go on.

RIP, Charlie. I love you.



This entry was posted in dogs, family, life, Personal and tagged , , , , , , , on by .

About Christine Perkett

I've spent my career coaching CEOs, CMOs, and COOs on how to best market and grow their companies, how to inspire and motivate their workforces, and how to manage in good times and in bad. I'm a serial entrepreneur who has founded three companies. I've received numerous accolades and awards including being named a “Top 100 Must Follow Marketing Mind” in Forbes, a 2020 Top 50 Social Media Influencer in Planable, a “Boston 50 on Fire” finalist, a “Top CEO to follow on Twitter,” a “Top 50 Social Media Influencer on Twitter” by Vocus (now Cision), and one of the 250 Most Influential Women Leaders by Richtopia since 2015. I've been featured in numerous outlets for my expertise including Associated Press, ABC, New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today and many more. I am also an adjunct Professor of Digital Marketing and Media at Northeastern University in Boston. I champion women in business and enjoy helping others make their dreams come true. Personally, I 'm a mom to four who loves dogs, the ocean, fashion, marathons, wine, humor and kindness.

5 thoughts on “Letting Go – RIP, Charlie

  1. K dilg

    You have an amazing ability to put the joys and pains of life into written word. I’m very sorry for your loss but happy that Charlie brought you so many years of joy. Love you tons.

  2. jr schmitt (@cloudspark)

    christine – oh gosh, wishing i had the right words but there is no hallmark card for moments like this. thank you for giving charlie a life of love, babies, young boys, trips to the ocean, the beach, the park and more. thank you for being there for him as a puppy and as an old dog, too.

    three years ago, we lost our beloved vizsla “trout” who succumbed to lymphoma after a 10 months of treatment. he was nearly five, but in those five years he opened my heart and more. trout was given three months at most, yet he must have known i was pregnant. he hung on to help me, he died three days after we brought our second daughter home – just enough time for him to get in a few good licks and to know we were going to be okay. (tearing up typing this.) dogs and the love they bring to us and bring out in us is real. may he find forever fields and your hearts have time to heal.

    with care, jr (@cloudspark)

  3. Livonne

    I’ll be facing the same dilemna soon with my 15 year old Maltese Terrier and am dreading it. I have never truly loved a dog before him. I wasn’t really a pet person. Never cruel, just no interest. This second hand dog came into our lives from a friend who didn’t want him anymore and we all fell instantly in love. Now he’s getting old and we know the time won’t be long. My heart goes out to you all. xxx

  4. Michelle Baum


    I was making these connections last night as I was thinking about Charlie and you and Rich, and your wedding (which doesn’t seem that long ago in some respects and ages ago in others), and your move from the red house to your house now, etc. My heart is heavy for you, my friend, as I know how difficult it is to let go, and yet how absolutely necessary it is in order to find your new path. I’m sending you big hugs today as you say, “I’ll see you again,” to Charlie, and as you process the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s