Charlie Cummings



May 13, 2000 – April 26, 2012


A beautiful dog inside and out, Charlie had a brave heart, an old soul

and an iron will. He exceeded the life expectancy for dogs with

Transitional Cell Carcinoma by almost two years with a cheerful outlook,

a fighting spirit and a patient acceptance of being poked, prodded

and medicated. A peaceful, playful and loving companion to us, Charlie

was a tolerant friend to puppies and small children

and an enemy of squirrels, skateboards and big mean dogs

till the very end.



Dear Dr. Cerf,

We said good-bye to Charlie a little over an hour ago.


He seemed really fine on the ride home and was nosing around in my handbag because he knew I had biscuits in there. When we got home, I cooked a New York strip steak and he ate about a third of it and still seemed fine. But overnight he started having what I now know were seizures—I just thought the breathing thing had gotten bad again. Michael was able to soothe him back to sleep and slept on the floor with him all night. But when he started seizing after Michael left for work, I knew something was very wrong and rushed in to the vet.


Dr. Sprague was in their Jersey City office but dropped everything to come to Hoboken for Charlie. He ran the bloodwork and his calcium was very low—we were all hoping that IV calcium would make the seizures stop, but they didn’t. I think probably the tumor had metastasized to the brain. We waited till Michael got back to Hoboken, and everyone at the vet paid tribute to what a tough little fighter he was. Dr. Sprague said he was the best patient of his entire career and very satisfying as he kept coming back from the brink every time (except for this one).


I wish Charlie had pulled through just one more time, but we will always be so grateful to you for giving us two and a half years—mostly good and happy ones-- we never would have had without you. You have been a wonderful partner in this endeavor, and a good and caring friend to all of us. I always felt Charlie was safe and happy in your hands, and that was always the most important thing to me.