The dog who saved my life was not a police K9--Meet "Charlie"

I tend to keep my personal life private but tonight I feel like baring my soul a bit. I’ve always strived to become the best version of myself I can. I’m famous for my loud and controversial style of in-your-face activism but lately I’ve enjoyed showing the other side of me that I prefer—the kind and sweet side.

I have not been able to tell my story on other social platforms or my website because I wasn’t ready and the sites weren’t right for this type of content. I’m feeling more and more comfortable with Steemit so I want to start sharing more of the “inner Barry” here.

Two months before fleeing the U.S. with my wife and three children, I was diagnosed with severe PTSD that put me in a temporary state of depression. My fast life as a rowdy Texas country boy, drug agent, mixed martial arts promoter, preacher, Kopbuster and other adrenaline-pumping roles had finally taken their toll on me…without notice.

I was 42 years old when the doctor explained why I couldn’t get out of bed and why I had lost interest in life. The recent raids and arrests and the taking of my autistic son had put the nail in the coffin. Barry Cooper was no longer the upbeat person that everyone knew. The doctor prescribed a one-a-day serotonin uptake inhibitor—and, 10 days later, I was back to me again.

I had hit a wall and couldn’t get through it, which was very unusual for me. Up to that point, I was always able to get through any hardship with the power of my mind and positive attitude. Not this time. I needed Charlie.

Two months after my diagnosis, I was on a cruise ship pretending to be on vacation. We were actually leaving the U.S. to never return again. Some other time I’ll tell the story of how I sold 30 pounds of marijuana and arranged a speedboat to take my family from Aruba to Venezuela. The point here is that when I landed on the shores of the communist country, I was severely stricken with PTSD but the one-a-day pill was masking the symptoms.

After settling in my new hideaway, I realized the pill was burying the causes of the PTSD. I went to work learning all I could about PTSD and depression. I didn’t want to take medicine the rest of my life and I didn’t want the symptoms to haunt me forever.

During my research, I learned many things about PTSD. One thing that stood out was the repeated advice to own and care for a pet. With this in mind, I noticed packs of wild dogs on the Venezuelan beaches. There were dozens of these packs, numbering from five to ten dogs per pack. They were wild. If a person could catch one, it was his to keep.

I focused on a small puppy that looked a lot like a Schnauzer. I liked the way she played with the tourists and how she wasn’t as wild as the other dogs. I watched her for more than an hour as my family played on the beach. She seemed to smile a lot. When I looked into her eyes, I noticed there was something else going on inside the puppy than simply being a dog.

I approximated her age at eight months because she still had a loose canine tooth hanging over her fresh and shiny new permanent fang. I’m glad she is a girl because I recognize the power of the opposite gender. I have always instinctively known when to use the male side to promote my life and when to use the female side. I needed everything feminine around me I could get. Her name seems off gender but many females share her name. I named her “Charlie” after a local Venezuelan who helped my family and me a lot.

I had owned dogs all my life. I raised coon-hunting dogs, home protection dogs and I trained hundreds of police K-9’s. I hunted raccoons as a way of making good money for my family. A good raccoon skin was worth $30. I always gave one-hundred percent of my earnings to my father because we were poor. In return, my father supported my hunting activities and bought all the dog food I wanted. Although I was always very connected to these dogs, I saw them more as working animals than pets. Charlie changed that.

I am certain the universe sent Charlie to me. She came with lots of surprises. She was very calm and quiet which was very important to me. When I left the U.S., I set a path of peace and quiet for myself so I could calm down from the years of living at 100 miles an hour.

I didn’t want to clean up piles of puppy yuck and puddles of pee because sanitation and cleanliness has always been very important to me. My father was retired military and I was raised for much of my childhood on a military base. This instilled a sense of cleanliness and order in me. When I noticed Charlie was already housebroken, I couldn’t believe it! I knew she was meant for me because puppies almost always have to be trained to go outside.

I’ll never forget the first healing moment I had with Charlie. She was the first dog I ever allowed in my bed. I’d started napping in the evening because the pill made me sleepy in the afternoon. While settling in to drift away one evening, I held Charlie close. Her head resting on my chest, which is a position, we still enjoy today.

The healing moment came when I stopped thinking about everything outside of the bedroom and focused on how good it felt to have a warm animal loving me. For the first time in my life, I paid attention to how good the puppy fur felt. I noticed her breathing pattern as a form of life instead of a sign the dog was scenting a raccoon or contraband. Charlie allowed me to notice her and I have been hooked on her ever since.

Now Charlie and I are inseparable and everyone seems to know her. She has made herself popular on the beaches and boardwalk that we often frequent together. She allows people to pet her but like her master, she doesn’t allow anyone to catch her. I like this trait because when she’s freshly groomed and cut, she looks just like a full-blood Schnauzer—if she were easy to catch, someone would steal her.

During our walkabouts, I often become separated with Charlie because we are both adventurous and sometimes she can’t find her way back to me. I never worry though because she always returns home. It’s amazing because in order to get home, Charlie must navigate a dozen city blocks while passing hundreds of automobiles and people. She always makes it and I’m always happy when she does.

Charlie has been with me for over five years. She has lived in all twenty-three of the new homes I occupied since leaving the U.S. Charlie has been transported in taxis, buses, airplanes and most importantly, in my arms.

Photo of cruise ship credit: travel.aarp.org